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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634198">a journal of impossible things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood'>lily_winterwood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who &amp; Related Fandoms, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1930s Shanghai, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Episode AU: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to politics, Time Lord Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:13:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634198</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come to think of it, something <i>was</i> odd,” muses Wei Wuxian, blinking back the sudden recollection as his fingers brush against an old pocket-watch on his desk. “I was a man from the Heavens itself… and you were there, too, as my companion.”</p><p>His valet’s eyes twitch a little, but he quickly then covers it with a smile and sets down the teapot. “That would be unheard of, sir.”</p><p>“Indeed, quite odd,” agrees Wei Wuxian. “It also took place in the <i>twenty-first</i> century.”</p><p>“Well, <i>that</i> I can prove wrong, sir,” replies his valet, now holding out the day’s copy of the <i>Shenjiang Xinbao</i>. “It’s Wednesday, 17 September 1930. And you are decidedly grounded in this earthly realm, sir.”</p><p>“You think so?” Wei Wuxian grins as he takes the paper from his valet. </p><p>“I know so, sir. As human as can be.”</p><p>(A Doctor Who AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn &amp; Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín &amp; Wēn Qíng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a thousand miles of red dust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every night, for as long as he can remember, Wei Wuxian has dreamed of touching the stars. </p><p>Out in the vast reaches of space and time, armed with only a flute and his wits, he would have adventures. Bold, daring, fantastic — not a single corner of the galaxy was unreachable with his imagination. Especially not when he’s flying his trusty red palanquin, that wondrous red box that was, impossibly, bigger on the inside. </p><p>“It’s so incredibly strange, you know,” he tells his valet one fall morning as the man pours him a cup of tea, “but last night I dreamt of the big red box again.”</p><p>“And what were you doing in the big red box, sir?” wonders his valet, quirking an eyebrow. </p><p>Wei Wuxian tries to remember what he was doing, but all he manages to recall are flickers of light and the blaring of an alarm. He looks around his office, grounding himself in the familiar wood details of his desk still piled high with ungraded papers, in the sounds of the bustling metropolis hidden just outside his window and the sweet warbles of a jazz song on the radio.</p><p>“Something about hiding,” he says after a moment, “but that’s dreams for you. So vivid and memorable one minute, and fading like morning dew the next. But —”</p><p>
  <em> “Did he see you? Did he get a good look at your face, Wen Ning?” </em>
</p><p>“Come to think of it, something <em> was </em>odd,” muses Wei Wuxian, blinking back the sudden recollection as his fingers brush against an old pocket-watch on his desk. “I was a man from the Heavens itself… and you were there, too, as my companion.”</p><p>His valet’s eyes twitch a little, but he quickly then covers it with a smile and sets down the teapot. “That would be unheard of, sir.”</p><p>“Indeed, quite odd,” agrees Wei Wuxian. “It also took place in the <em> twenty-first </em>century.”</p><p>“Well, <em> that </em> I can prove wrong, sir,” replies his valet, now holding out the day’s copy of the <em> Shenjiang Xinbao</em>. “It’s Wednesday, 17 September 1930. And you are decidedly grounded in this earthly realm, sir.”</p><p>“You think so?” Wei Wuxian grins as he takes the paper from his valet. </p><p>“I know so, sir. As human as can be.”</p><p>“Hmm, indeed.” Wei Wuxian flicks through the pages of the newspaper. “But then, everything I dream of these days is so curious.” His hands brush against the pocket-watch on the desk again, and he pauses, absently gazing at the circular designs carved into its steely exterior. “Like this watch, for example…”</p><p>
  <em> “Be very careful with this. This watch is very important. Critical, even. This watch is —” </em>
</p><p>“Nevermind.” Wei Wuxian sets the watch and paper down and takes a sip of his tea. The reassuring scent of longjing surrounds him. “That should be all, Wen Ning.”</p><p>“My pleasure, Professor Wei.” His valet’s smile is tight. “Please enjoy your breakfast.”</p>
<hr/><p>“How is he doing this morning?” asks Wen Qing as Wen Ning enters the infirmary office. </p><p>“He dreamt of the red box again,” replies Wen Ning, setting down his empty tray with a sigh. Wen Qing raises an eyebrow and pulls out a chair for him. “I was there, too. He wouldn’t say more of it, though, but… the frequency of these dreams. Could it be a sign? We didn’t get them as often in the earlier days.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” agrees Wen Qing. “End of the month coming soon, huh?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m quite excited about that as well.” Wen Ning rubs nervously at the knees of his trousers. “Can’t wait to get out of here and travel again.”</p><p>“You mean you can’t wait to see <em> him </em> again,” teases Wen Qing, elbowing him with a grin. “Ever since we started travelling with him you’ve been following him around like a puppy! Sometimes I feel like I’m being replaced!”</p><p>Wen Ning gapes at her. “I would never <em> dream </em> of replacing jiejie,” he protests. </p><p>Wen Qing laughs, just as a boy out in the ward calls for her. “Be back in a second. Gotta play makeshift mother… <em> again</em>.”</p><p>“I thought the St Cloud’s School for Boys was the best of the best in Shanghai,” says Wen Ning.</p><p>“Of course it is!” Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Full of the city’s future leaders. A cadre of 1920s fu’erdai.” </p><p>“Just one more month, right?” asks Wen Ning, patting her hand. His sister nods and sighs.</p><p>“Yeah, just one more month. And Shanghai’s a big city. Just gotta keep our heads down a bit longer.” And with that, she leaves the office. </p><p>Wen Ning follows. Besides the boy his sister is tending to, there’s only one other patient. Lan Jingyi immediately clutches at his stomach the moment he catches Wen Ning staring at him, expression seizing into a mask of pain. Wen Ning chuckles at that, but walks on as if he hadn’t noticed. It’s not his problem if some of the boys here like to fake illness to get out of class.</p><p>When he reaches his sister’s side, Wen Qing is pulling out an envelope from the pocket of her apron. “I got this this morning,” she says, handing it to her charge. The boy greedily tears open the envelope, glee evident on his face.</p><p>“Someone’s homesick,” says Wen Ning. </p><p>“His parents are currently in Nanjing,” replies Wen Qing. “He hasn’t seen them in a couple of months.”</p><p>“They’re coming back to Shanghai tomorrow night!” exclaims the boy, happily clutching the letter to his chest. “I can’t wait to see Mama again!”</p><p>“Ah, Ouyang Zizhen!” Wei Wuxian’s voice calls as he pokes his head into the infirmary. “How’re you holding up?”</p><p>“Just got a letter from my mother, sir,” says Ouyang Zizhen, smiling back at him. “I’ll have my paper done by this weekend, I promise.”</p><p>“That’s a good boy,” says Wei Wuxian, grinning.</p><p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t get to it earlier, sir,” continues Ouyang Zizhen, “but I do have another paper for Professor Lan first, and he didn’t give me any extensions.”</p><p>“Professor Lan<em> never </em> grants extensions,” chips in Lan Jingyi, which only serves to draw Wei Wuxian’s attention fully onto him. </p><p>“Lan Jingyi, as I live and breathe,” he says, “what are <em> you </em> doing here?”</p><p>“I had a stomach ache!” protests Lan Jingyi.</p><p>“Does a stomach ache stop you from learning about physics?” scoffs Wei Wuxian, just as the bell signalling the start of classes begins to ring.</p><p>Wen Qing’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she nods towards the door. “I do believe that’s your cue, Professor Wei,” she says sweetly. </p><p>Wei Wuxian makes a face. “And you’d be right, Matron,” he says, spinning on his heel for the infirmary door. “Just wanted to check on my boys.”</p><p>“Well, now they’re checked.” Wen Qing’s smile only widens. “Out you get. Wen Ning will come find you later, promise.” </p><p>As Wei Wuxian wanders off to his classroom, Wen Ning can’t help but chuckle. “Really can’t take our eyes off of him, huh,” he says.</p><p>Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “It’d be irritating if it were anyone else.” </p>
<hr/><p>Wei Wuxian falls in love on a Wednesday afternoon. Or rather, he falls physically, and the handsome man passing below his window is quick to catch him as he tumbles out with a bottle of Emperor’s Smile clutched in his hands. </p><p>“Alcohol is forbidden at St Cloud’s,” the handsome man points out rather pedantically, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh and hide the bottle in his coat. </p><p>“I wasn’t aware the school’s policy also applied to faculty,” he teases. The man sets him down and brushes himself off, looking rather affronted nonetheless. His suit is pristine white and silver, without a single stray speck of mud or city grime. “Or are you just deliberately teasing me, Lan Zhan?”</p><p>Professor Lan Wangji, head of the music department, wrinkles his nose. “I would not dream of doing such an impertinent thing,” he replies.</p><p>“And yet you quoted to me the exact words of our first meeting,” says Wei Wuxian, as the two of them now stroll together through the courtyard gardens of St Cloud’s School for Boys. It’s a modest-sized institution in the heart of the French Concession, walled in from the modern metropolis around it in a mixture of Western architecture and Eastern gardens. “Coming from a poker face like you, that’s practically a confession.”</p><p>The corner of Lan Wangji’s lips turn up just slightly. “You know better than to address me so familiarly in public,” he retorts. </p><p>“Yes, sir, Professor, sir,” teases Wei Wuxian with a mock salute. “Can you believe it’s only been two months since we first met?”</p><p>“I had believed it to be longer than that,” remarks Lan Wangji drily. Wei Wuxian laughs at that, clapping him on the shoulder. </p><p>“Well, time flies. Funny thing, isn’t it?” They reach a lotus pond at that moment, and Wei Wuxian takes a seat on the bench, looking out at the last of the summer lotuses. “One minute, you’re sound and secure in your bed, and the next you’re flying through the stars into an unknown future.”</p><p>“Through the stars?” echoes Lan Wangji, taking a seat beside him. Wei Wuxian nods, looking upwards at the overcast sky. “How so?”</p><p>“Sometimes I have these dreams,” replies Wei Wuxian. “I’ve been getting them every night, actually. Walking a single-plank bridge through time and space. Impossible dreams folded into impossible realities.”</p><p>“What makes you believe that these dreams are not real?” wonders Lan Wangji.</p><p>“Because in them, I’m someone called the Resurrector, and I’m hiding from something,” replies Wei Wuxian. </p>
<hr/><p>“How’s your stomach?” wonders Wen Sizhui as he takes a seat in the infirmary beside Lan Jingyi. The other boy is the only patient left in the ward now, as Ouyang Zizhen had been discharged not long after getting his mother’s letter. </p><p>Lan Jingyi grimaces at him. “Spare me some sympathy; I might be dying.”</p><p>“Spare yourself some face,” retorts Wen Sizhui, before handing him a bun wrapped in a handkerchief. “Fancy a trip to the cinema?”</p><p>Lan Jingyi raises an eyebrow. “What’s showing?” </p><p>“All the usual American imports, including that controversial one about the Great War in Europe,” replies Wen Sizhui. “But if you’re not up for English movies, there’s <em> Pearl of the Orient </em> by Nie Huaisang.” He grins and leans in closer. “I heard from some of the older boys that there’s some <em> very </em> modern scenes in it.”</p><p>That gets Lan Jingyi’s attention. “Sizhui, you’re a genius! You might’ve just cured my stomach ache!”</p><p>Wen Sizhui snorts, but stands up to proffer his hand to his friend nonetheless. “You have far too many weak spots, Jingyi,” he chastises. </p><p>“And <em> you’re </em> a monk?” retorts Lan Jingyi as Wen Sizhui pulls him up. “Somehow, I doubt that.”</p><p>Wen Sizhui rolls his eyes. “I’m not a monk; I just prefer to keep my cards to my chest.” </p><p>“I don’t know; isn’t it all the rage in America to be as honest as you like?” Lan Jingyi’s eyes twinkle. “Say, next time we’re on Nanjing Road, you have to say everything that’s on your mind the moment it comes to you. I dare you to!”</p><p>“Feeling better, Jingyi?” cuts in Matron Wen’s voice suddenly. The boys snap to attention; Wen Sizhui barely resists the urge to salute her. </p><p>“Much better, Matron,” chirps Lan Jingyi, smiling weakly. “I think I can go now.”</p><p>Wen Sizhui chuckles quietly behind his friend all the way out of the ward.</p>
<hr/><p>When Wen Ning goes to deliver Wei Wuxian’s evening meal, he notices that Professor Lan is in his office with him. The two of them are bent over a small leatherbound journal, thick as thieves. Something sour and green boils deep in Wen Ning’s gut just seeing that. </p><p>“I call it a journal of impossible things,” Wei Wuxian is explaining as he flips through the pages. As Wen Ning begins setting up dinner, he catches glimpses of the pages — sketches of monsters and robots and distant worlds. </p><p>“The White Snake,” murmurs Professor Lan. “The Taotie, Hundun, Qiongqi, Taowu. So fantastical, yet so cultured… you truly have an imagination. Are you sure you would not be a better match for the literature department?”</p><p>“And have to brown-nose all day? Nah.” Wei Wuxian cackles. “I like it here in my musty little corner of the science department. Sometimes we get to build trebuchets!”</p><p>“Mm.” Professor Lan’s finger traces the lines of a beautiful young woman on one page. “And you have an eye for beauty, too.”</p><p>“Oh, she’s — she’s a character I made up. Jiang Yanli. The sweetest, most wonderful…” he trails off, evidently seeing the shadow falling over Professor Lan’s features. “She disappears, though. I don’t remember why.”</p><p>“Mm.” Professor Lan’s hands linger over Wei Wuxian’s as he turns the page again. “So many reincarnations. You would think this dream version of you had committed some great sin, to be trapped in this cycle for so long.”</p><p>“I think he likes it, in a way,” admits Wei Wuxian with a laugh. “Especially since he gets to see the entire universe in this thing here, this little red box.”</p><p>“A heavenly gateway,” remarks Professor Lan. “May I borrow this?”</p><p>“I don’t see why not,” replies Wei Wuxian, and the vinegar bubbles at the back of Wen Ning’s throat when he sees that Wei Wuxian isn’t looking at the journal anymore, but at Professor Lan.</p>
<hr/><p>“That was a<em> stupid </em>movie,” declares Lan Jingyi as he slumps onto Wen Sizhui’s shoulders. “The lead actress, what’s-her-face, can’t even act her way out of a paper bag. She’s no Hu Die or Ruan Lingyu, that’s for sure.” </p><p>“I’m sure there were other considerations behind her casting,” suggests Wen Sizhui, even as Lan Jingyi pitches them both into a nearby streetlamp. “Hey, hey, maybe we should wait the gin out a bit, huh? You can’t go back on campus like this.”</p><p>“What’s the director even doing? Why does he insist on making the stupidest movies about the dumbest rich people ever to live?” Lan Jingyi grabs onto the pole of the streetlamp, swinging himself out of his friend’s grasp. “Is the point of it all to show everyone just how<em> dumb </em>rich people are?”</p><p>“Shh!” hisses Wen Sizhui, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Do you <em> want </em> the Russian part of town to hear you or something?”</p><p>“Maybe I do!” Lan Jingyi shrugs him off and hops off the streetlamp. “We get it! Rich people are dumb!” </p><p>Wen Sizhui groans, and lunges for him again. “Next time this happens, we’re drinking behind the gymnasium like everyone else,” he snaps, before starting to drag his friend down the pavement once more. “How does some late-night coffee sound, Jingyi? Jingyi?”</p><p>“Whoa,” says Lan Jingyi, his head turned towards the sky. “That’s… that’s like a fire. In the sky.”</p><p>“A what?” demands Wen Sizhui, before following Lan Jingyi’s gaze to see a crimson flare streak across the sky.</p>
<hr/><p>“You missed dinner again, Wangji; work must be very busy.”</p><p>Lan Wangji pauses in the foyer of their family mansion, sighs, and turns towards the parlour where his brother is reading the evening paper. A lively jazz record is playing on the gramophone beside his armchair. The faintest hint of cigarette smoke lingers in the air.</p><p>“I thought we were purging that habit,” says Lan Wangji, making a show of sniffing the air.</p><p>“Wasn’t me,” replies Lan Xichen through a sip of brandy. </p><p>“Mm.” Lan Wangji turns towards the marble staircase, but no sooner had he taken the first step does his brother clear his throat. </p><p>“I’m trying to finalise my guest list for the soirée tomorrow evening,” continues Lan Xichen, finally folding his paper closed and putting it aside. “There’s going to be live music and everything. Maybe we’ll even have some ballroom dancing!”</p><p>Lan Wangji swallows, folding his hands behind his back. “I do not dance,” he says. </p><p>“Well, you <em> have </em> to contribute something to my party,” pleads Lan Xichen, wobbling his lower lip for dramatic effect. “You won’t play your qin and you won’t dance? What was the point of sending you to Paris, then?”</p><p>“I have papers to grade,” replies Lan Wangji, turning back towards the stairs. Lan Xichen sighs. </p><p>“You know, you really haven’t been yourself lately, Wangji,” he begins, but Lan Wangji holds up a hand to stop him, frowning.</p><p>“Brother, please. It is late.” </p><p>“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt you once in a while to come have dinner with me and uncle.” Lan Xichen smiles at him. “A family should be together during dinner. You know that.” </p><p>Lan Wangji merely nods. But before he can make his retreat upstairs, one of the family maids comes running in from the kitchen.</p><p>“Young Masters, come look! A shooting star!”</p><p>Lan Wangji follows her swiftly through the kitchen and out into the backyard, where many of the other servants are gathered on the lawn, looking upwards.</p><p>“I’ve never seen a shooting star that red,” says the chef. “Maybe it’s the Japanese?”</p><p>“Oh, don’t talk about such dreadful things,” rebukes the butler. “Second Young Master Lan, please forgive us. Would you like some tea before bed tonight?” </p><p>Lan Wangji remembers the smell of tea lingering at the collar of Wei Wuxian’s shirt, and nods. “Longjing, please,” he says, before looking back up and watching the shooting star fade out of sight.</p>
<hr/><p>In the shadows of the Garden Bridge, an unmarked black car pulls up to the bank.</p><p>Two men emerge from the back, carrying a canvas body bag with them. They weigh the bag down with rocks from the riverbank before throwing it out into the water.</p><p>“It’ll take a couple days for him to resurface, if there’s anything left of him by then,” remarks one man as they watch the canvas sink out of sight. “With any luck, the fish will get to him first.”</p><p>“The only use for a damned commie,” agrees the other, and the two of them climb back onto the embankment and drive away. In the distance, the sound of laughter and merriment pour out of newly-built dance halls in the International Settlement. An uneasy peace hangs in the air on the thinnest of threads. </p><p>And if these men had stayed just a minute longer, they would have noticed a red glow encircling the body bag as it slowly sinks down to the riverbed.</p>
<hr/><p>“Have you heard?” one of the maids asks Wen Qing and Wen Ning the next morning as they take their breakfast together in the school kitchen. “A new tower appeared overnight in Pudong.”</p><p>“A new tower,” echoes Wen Qing. The maid simply points at the upper fold of the newspaper that Wen Ning is arranging on the tray he’s bringing up to Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing takes it, staring at the photograph printed alongside the headline. </p><p>“Is that what I think it is?” wonders Wen Ning, leaning over his sister’s shoulder.</p><p>“A real pearl of the Orient, wouldn’t you agree?” wonders Wen Qing drily. “And several decades too soon.” </p><p>Wen Ning frowns. “You don’t think it’s…?” he begins, but Wen Qing shushes him, folding the paper back up and putting it back on the tray.</p><p>“Try not to draw his attention to it,” she suggests, before turning back to the maid. “I have some errands in town today, Yinzhu; I could get some stuff for the girls…” </p><p>After breakfast, Wen Qing takes a bike off campus. Almost as soon as she steps beyond the walls of the school, the bustle and noise of Shanghai bursts into lively cacophony all around her. Long, slow traffic processions of cars inch their way down the avenue, vying for space with rickshaws and pedestrians alike. On her bike, Wen Qing quickly cuts a path for herself down the crowded, tree-lined avenue until she hits a shikumen gate adorned with a twin pair of lions.</p><p>Ducking through the gate, Wen Qing finds herself down a long alleyway neighbourhood lined with old terrace houses. The sound of children playing and aunties chattering fill the air, while clothes of every sort are dangled out to air on windowsills, balconies, and electrical wires. </p><p>An old grandmother sits in a wicker chair in front of one of the doors. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Wen herself,” she declares, gnarled old hands clutching tight onto a cup of tea. “You must be working very hard lately; I haven’t seen you nor your brother here in days!” </p><p>“I’m sorry I haven’t visited, Granny,” says Wen Qing, setting down her bike and coming to join her. “I hope you’re feeling better?”</p><p>“I went to an apothecary in the Old City,” replies Granny, “and they fixed me right up. My back doesn’t hurt at all now, thanks to the herbs.” </p><p>“That’s good to hear,” says Wen Qing, scuffing at the ground. “Heard about the shooting star last night?”</p><p>“Uncle Four says it’s the damned Japanese,” declares Granny. “Showing off their weapons as if trying to provoke us.”</p><p>Wen Qing raises an eyebrow. “The radio said it was a natural occurrence.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll bet you anything it isn’t,” replies Granny. “Say, could you fetch me some more hot water for my tea?”</p><p>Wen Qing takes the vacuum flask sitting next to her. “Looks like this could do with a refill, Granny,” she says, lugging the thing with her towards the front step of the house. “I won’t be long!”</p><p>Almost as soon as she has the kettle on the stove for another batch of hot water, Wen Qing closes the curtains on all the back windows of the house, before tiptoeing into a small storage closet just off the kitchen.</p><p>She is greeted by the sight of a familiar red palanquin. With a smile, Wen Qing unlocks the door and slips inside, crossing to the central console of the Qiankun Box.</p><p>“Hello,” she says, and then sighs. Of course the Qiankun Box couldn’t reply to her; it’s on standby mode and she wouldn’t be able to understand it either way. Not without the Resurrector. </p><p>
  <em> “Get down, you two!” A bolt of red glances off a column in the Qiankun Box just as Wen Qing hits the deck, pain smarting through her palms as it collides with the metal grille. The Resurrector scrambles to his feet as the Qiankun Box’s doors close and it takes off, but the alarms on the console are still blaring. “He’s chasing us still. He’s gotten a vortex manipulator; he’ll rip up all of space and time just to get me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What do we do?” demands Wen Qing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He doesn’t know what I look like anymore,” mutters the Resurrector. “He knows my smell, but not my face. We’re going to have to hide.” </em>
</p><p>Wen Qing pulls down a screen and presses a button. The face of Wei Wuxian — the Resurrector — appears on the screen, smiling. Next to the screen dangles a headset — the Chameleon Arch, which had started it all.</p><p>
  <em> “This is going to rewrite every cell in my body,” explains the Resurrector as he pulls the headset down. “It’ll turn me human and hide away my memories. Captain Ruohan is clever and ruthless, but he doesn’t have much life left in him. That’s why he wants to consume a Time Lord. I’m too distinctive and too immortal as I am, but with this, I can blend in.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What about us?” asks Wen Ning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you trust me?” asks the Resurrector. Both of the Wen siblings nod. “Good.”  </em>
</p><p>“Wen siblings, thank you so much for taking care of me,” the Resurrector’s voice warbles up from the screen. “Before I change, here’s some instructions for what to do while I’m human. One: don’t let me hurt anyone. Goes without saying, but humans can be so unpredictable. Two: don’t get us mixed up in big historical events. I don’t know where the Qiankun Box will take us, but lots of big things happen all the time in the most unlikely places. Five — no, wait, three — don’t worry about the Box. It’ll be set on standby, so just let it hide away.”</p><p>
  <em> “The Qiankun Box is going to take care of everything,” says the Resurrector as he plugs in some final settings on the Chameleon Arch. “It’ll pick a place and time for us and integrate me. Can’t do the same for you two, though, so you’ll have to improvise. But I should have enough awareness left to trust you both.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And what do we need to do?” wonders Wen Qing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You need to guard this until the time is right,” replies the Resurrector, pulling out a silver pocket-watch and waving it at the two of them. “Be very careful with this. This watch is very important. Critical, even. This watch is going to become me.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wen Qing watches him slip the watch into the headset with an overwhelming sense of confusion and dread. “How?” she asks. </em>
</p><p>“Four: guard that pocket-watch with your life. I’ve put a perception filter on it, so human me won’t think much of it, but everything I am is contained in there. So don’t open it unless there’s absolutely no other choice. If it does open, Captain Ruohan will be able to find us.”</p><p>“But what if something alien finds you even without the watch being open?” demands Wen Qing. “There was a red flare in the sky and then the Oriental Pearl Tower appeared decades too early. What do we do then?”</p><p>She and her brother have run through the video countless times, so by now she knows each of the instructions by heart. She scrubs through them anyway, almost as if hoping for new ones to magically pop up at the end.</p><p>“Finally, thirty-three: don’t let me abandon you two. No matter what I say or do as a human, don’t let me leave you two behind. It’s going to come down to your decision, in the end, as to whether or not to restore me. I now entrust my lives into your hands. Thank you.”</p><p>The video ends then, the screen going dark once more, and Wen Qing sighs as she steps back from the console. </p><p>“Useless,” she mutters. “Wish you were actually here.”</p>
<hr/><p>Miles away on the shores of the Bund, a barely-breathing man stumbles up the embankment and collapses just before the sidewalk. Passerby sound the alarm, and in what seems like no time at all, a black car pulls up and a cadre of men come and take him away. </p><p>(Miles away, at St Cloud’s School for Boys, Wen Sizhui knocks at the door of his physics teacher’s office. Professor Wei opens it with a wide grin, ushering him in and asking him to wait while he tracks down the book Wei Sizhui had requested.</p><p>Wen Sizhui obeys, until he hears voices calling to him from amid all the books and papers gathered on Professor Wei’s desk.)</p><p>When he comes to again, the man finds himself looking up at bundles of herbs and acupuncture charts, and for a moment he racks the brains of this body to try and recall how he got there in the first place. The last memory this body has, though, is of staring down the barrel of a gun, and the flash of a sapphire on a gangster’s left fist. </p><p>“Tell us how you survived,” drawls a voice somewhere in the room. The man moves to sit up, but realises that he has been strapped down to the table. “My men shot you at point-blank range. You could not have lived.”</p><p>“Do you want to know?” wonders the man drily. “Or do you ask for the sake of questioning the impossible?”</p><p>“One does not preclude the other,” retorts the voice. The man says nothing to that. He inhales, tracing the faintest hint of gold that had drawn him to this city at this point in time. </p><p>It should be here, though scattered with the scents of thousands of humans, thousands of lives pitted against one another in this delicate ecosystem of different cultures and ideologies. Of course a Time Lord would choose to hide in pre-war Shanghai; the diversity itself would scatter his own oddities to the winds. </p><p>(Miles away, in Professor Wei’s office, Wen Sizhui finds voices coming from a pocket-watch, and opens it.)</p><p>It takes just one flare. A burst of golden energy, a tantalising feast. <em> The Time Lord is here! </em> He is close, so close… all he needs are a couple men of his own.</p><p>With a simple flex, the straps binding him down snap. The man sits up, looking into the terrified faces of three men in linen suits. </p><p>“You <em> are </em> correct — you did kill the man who used to own this body,” he says, and oh, how these cowardly fools seem to quiver and tremble before him. “Whoever he is is no more. You answer to me now.” </p><p>“I never ‘answered’ to you,” protests their leader, taking a step back. “I was just doing my job!”</p><p>The man scoffs, and without warning he slams the leader up against the drawers lining the back wall. The others reach for their guns, but the man merely wags a finger. “Ah-ah-ah, you don’t want to do that,” he says.</p><p>“Who are you?” demands one of the other men.</p><p>“Your new…” the man looks the quivering leader up and down, lip curling, “spymaster.”</p><p>Without warning, he presses the palm of his hand into the leader’s forehead, causing him to scream in agony. The smell of burning flesh fills the room.</p><p>“Who do you answer to?” wonders the man. </p><p>“You!” whimpers the leader. “Please… please don’t…” </p><p>The man pulls his hand away, revealing a horrific sun-shaped brand mark on the former leader’s forehead. The other two recoil in disgust, whimpering to be spared as the man dusts his hands off and looks towards them.</p><p>“Call me ‘Your Majesty’,” he said.</p><p>“Yes, sir, Your Majesty, sir!” declares the other two. </p><p>The man’s smile is shark-like. “Let’s return to my ship,” he says. “I have a new assignment for you.”</p>
<hr/><p><em> The burden of centuries, the rage of millions. The Yiling Patriarch. Bane of the Taotie. </em> Wen Sizhui closes the watch almost as soon as he opens it, but the whispers continue. <em> Keep me secret. Keep me safe. </em></p><p>“Ah, here it is, the essay on general relativity that you asked for,” says Professor Wei as he steps back from the shelf with a book in hand and a smile. </p><p>Wen Sizhui looks at him, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t, because instead of the face of his physics teacher, he sees instead the man whose voice had floated to him out of the pocket-watch. <em> Time Lord. </em></p><p>“Are you all right, Sizhui?” asks Professor Wei.</p><p>Wen Sizhui can feel the weight of the watch in his trouser pocket. “Yeah,” he says quickly, taking the book from Professor Wei. “Thank you, sir.”</p><p>“You have the potential to be top of the class; I know you’re smart enough for it,” says Professor Wei, opening the door to his office. “Don’t hide yourself away, even if it’s out of humility.” </p><p>“Of course, sir,” says Wen Sizhui, bowing his head and shuffling rapidly away. At the end of the hall he ducks into an alcove and opens the watch again. Golden energy floats out of it, dancing in front of his eyes. </p><p>
  <em> Time Lord. Time Lord.  </em>
</p><p>Flashes of monsters, of faces, of places only ever dreamt about. The cold darkness of space. The laughter of demons. The cry of a woman.</p><p>
  <em> The single-plank bridge through space and time. Lonely, wandering, laughing god.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Resurrector. </em>
</p><p>Wen Sizhui closes the watch. “What are you?” he mutters, staring at the intricate circles carved on the back. “Why are you here?”</p><p>The bell signalling the start of classes begins to ring, and Wen Sizhui pockets the watch again and heads on to class.</p>
<hr/><p>In the afternoon, Wei Wuxian finds Lan Wangji once again in the school gardens, looking out at the lotuses. “They’ll be fading soon, with the fall coming in,” says Wei Wuxian as he takes a seat beside the other man. A dragonfly skims along the surface of the pond. </p><p>“I would like to return this,” says Lan Wangji after a moment, taking out the journal and pushing it across the bench towards him.</p><p>“You read fast,” remarks Wei Wuxian, not looking down. </p><p>“I could not bear to read to the end,” admits Lan Wangji. “Not with the entries about next year, and the year after that, and all the years to come.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian frowns. “Those were just dreams,” he points out.</p><p>“Nightmares,” corrects Lan Wangji. He looks around him furtively before adding, quietly, “a house divided against itself is nothing but a nightmare.”</p><p>“Well, then we can be glad that none of what I wrote is true,” replies Wei Wuxian. “Don’t let it get to you too much, Lan Zhan — it’s just the ramblings of my sleeping mind.”</p><p>Lan Wangji pauses for a moment, as if contemplating his next words, before folding his hands in his lap and staring at his shoes as if he could obliterate every last speck of dirt on them with his glare alone. Wei Wuxian watches him, fascinated by the curve of his jaw, the line of his neck. Part of him itches to draw the man; the other part wonders what it would be like to touch such flawless skin. </p><p>Lan Wangji clears his throat, and finally looks at Wei Wuxian again. “My brother is hosting a party tonight,” he says. “The toast of Shanghai society will be there. I would like you to accompany me.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian blinks, a little taken aback at the sudden forwardness. “Meeting your family already?” he teases. “We’re moving awfully fast, aren’t we?”</p><p>“Something tells me time is of the essence,” says Lan Wangji, and this time his fingers brush against Wei Wuxian’s as he takes the journal back. “Come dance with me tonight, Wei Ying.”</p><p>“Of course,” agrees Wei Wuxian, breathless. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”</p>
<hr/><p>“How were your errands?” asks Wen Ning as Wen Qing rolls her bike back to the shed by the school kitchens. He grabs her basket for her, sliding out of her way when she tries to take it back. “Come on, let me do this; I’ve been bored to death just keeping an eye on him.”</p><p>“<em>That’s </em> a first,” says Wen Qing, in a tone of voice that suggests she knows he’s lying. Wen Ning can feel his face heat at the accusation and promptly hefts the basket up to cover his face. </p><p>“You seem to have gotten some groceries,” he notes.</p><p>“An old lady at the market tried to scam me out of some onions,” replies Wen Qing.</p><p>Wen Ning hums. “And I trust Granny is in good health?” he asks. His sister gets the door for him, pursing her lips as she considers her answer.</p><p>“She said the apothecary gave her a cure for her back,” she says after a moment. “You can set the basket down now, you know.”</p><p>Wen Ning complies, but starts unpacking and sorting the contents before she can even raise a finger. “Did you find any English toffees?” he asks.</p><p>Wen Qing makes a face. “All out.”</p><p>Wen Ning nods. “Good. And what about the red box?”</p><p>“Nothing new,” replies Wen Qing. “It’s not like new instructions appear whenever we want. ‘Use the watch when needed’ is all he gave us, and it hasn’t changed.”</p><p>“I think the possible reappearance of a time-travelling space tyrant out to get us counts as ‘needed’ in this situation, but maybe a flare is just a flare,” remarks Wen Ning. </p><p>“A time-travelling what now?” asks Wei Wuxian. </p><p>The two siblings immediately snap to attention, with Wen Ning rushing over to his side. “Do you need something, sir?” he asks, deferential valet mode engaged faster than a young debutante. “I could bring you some tea and cake — one of the chefs made some shortcake and it’s <em> very </em> good —”</p><p>“That sounds wonderful!” chirps Wei Wuxian, smiling at the two of them. “But could you make it two cups and two slices? And maybe deliver it before five? I have a party to go to this evening.”</p><p>“A party, sir?” asks Wen Ning, even though he had overheard Lan Wangji inviting Wei Wuxian to said party. “How exciting. When should we anticipate your return?”</p><p>“Not sure,” admits Wei Wuxian, scrunching up his face. “Late, probably. I’m going with — with a friend. We’ll probably go get coffee after or something. Very late. But I won’t be having dinner here, so don’t wait up.”</p><p>“Understood, sir,” says Wen Ning, nodding. </p><p>“You could go watch a movie or two,” continues Wei Wuxian. “I heard <em> Pearl of the Orient </em> was… let’s say <em> interesting</em>.”</p><p>“What’s it about?” asks Wen Qing.</p><p>“Haven’t seen it,” admits Wei Wuxian. “Bring up the tea set soon?”</p><p>Wen Qing shoots finger guns at him. Wei Wuxian stares at her oddly for a couple seconds before swinging back out of the room. As soon as he leaves, Wen Ning starts loading a tea-tray in a desperate attempt to delay his sudden urge to scream.</p><p>“Sixty yuan that it’s Professor Lan,” jokes Wen Qing.</p><p>“Who else could it be?” wonders Wen Ning, swallowing down the vinegar taste rising in the back of his throat. “He just had to go and fall in love with a human, huh?”</p><p>Wen Qing hums. “You’re just mad it isn’t you.”</p><p>“What?” gasps Wen Ning. “No! I mean… yes, a little, but — what happens when we need to use the watch? The Resurrector is more than just Wei Wuxian. He won’t be the same; it’ll break Professor Lan’s heart.” </p><p>Wen Qing nods, silently crossing over to her brother and enfolding him in her arms. Wen Ning buries his face in the crook of her neck, and if her shirt collar is a little damp after he pulls away to take the tray upstairs, neither of them make any note of it. </p>
<hr/><p>Wen Sizhui is reading through the borrowed book on general relativity when he feels the hair at his nape prick up with the slight feeling that he’s being watched. </p><p>He looks up, just in time to see three men staring across the courtyard at him. Two of the men are dressed in identical linen suits, while the third is in brown. His stare is the most unsettling of the three of them.</p><p>As one, the men inhale sharply and tilt their heads towards him. Almost immediately the watch in his pocket starts to whisper again.</p><p>
  <em> Hide me. Hide me from the hollow king…  </em>
</p><p>Wen Sizhui closes his book and starts to walk away. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that the two linen-suited men have broken rank and are now following him briskly.</p><p><em> Hide me! </em>hisses the watch.</p><p>Wen Sizhui starts to run.</p>
<hr/><p>“Tell me more about Jiang Yanli,” says Lan Wangji.</p><p>They’re in Wei Wuxian’s office now, bursting in its usual chaos and disarray. The radio is playing a cheery love song, the warbling lilt of the singer’s voice fading into the background under the ferocious pounding of Lan Wangji’s heart as he sits on an old leather sofa, posing. </p><p>At his desk, Wei Wuxian is busy sketching, his expression scrunched in concentration. Lan Wangji can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine knowing that intensity is directed entirely at him. </p><p>“She’s just a character I made up,” says Wei Wuxian, glancing up from his notebook. “Why?”</p><p>“Because she was important to many of those stories,” replies Lan Wangji, “and I was curious.”</p><p>“She was everything,” replies Wei Wuxian. “Jiang Yanli, with the stars in her eyes. Representing the best of humanity. Always pushing back the darkness.”</p><p>Lan Wangji swallows back the taste of vinegar. “Did you love her?” he asks.</p><p>“Did the Resurrector love her, you mean?” Wei Wuxian chuckles wryly. “As much as a brother could ever love his sister, I suppose.” </p><p>Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he nods at the journal and asks, “may I see?” </p><p>Wei Wuxian presents the journal to him. Lan Wangji’s breath flees him at the sight of the pencil sketch of his face, preserved in pensive beauty amid pages of impossibilities. </p><p>“Oh, forgot something,” Wei Wuxian takes the journal back, and doodles a peony onto the side of the sketch’s head. “Haha, <em> now </em> it’s perfect.”</p><p>“Impertinent,” retorts Lan Wangji, though there’s no heat in it. Wei Wuxian has rendered him more speechless than usual, as he is wont to do. He can feel the sofa shift beside him as Wei Wuxian takes a seat, and vaguely wonders if the other man can hear how frantic his heart is right now.</p><p>Wei Wuxian’s lips feel like a promise, soft and warm against his own. Lan Wangji can’t help but cling on to that warmth, hands flying to Wei Wuxian’s nape to keep him close even after they part. He presses their foreheads together, panting a little. Wei Wuxian’s own laugh is breathless. </p><p>“This is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done,” he says. Lan Wangji huffs at that, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upwards for the first time in a long, long while. “My heartbeat’s so fast I can’t even tell if I’ve got one or two hearts anymore.”</p><p>“Why would you have two hearts?” wonders Lan Wangji.</p><p>“Sometimes I dream of it,” replies Wei Wuxian, breathless. Lan Wangji replies by placing a hand on his chest, right where his heart is drumming, hard and fast.</p><p>“One heart,” he confirms, before diving back in to reclaim Wei Wuxian’s lips, pulling him in ever closer. Wei Wuxian’s hands ghost along his sides before settling in the small of his back. </p><p>There’s a knock at the office door, and Lan Wangji immediately pulls back, feeling his cheeks flush and his head spin. He smooths back his hair and picks the journal back up, pretending to read it as Wei Wuxian goes to answer the door.</p><p>Wei Wuxian returns with a tea-tray moments later, and a rather odd, half-pinched expression on his face. “My valet asked me if I have a watch on my desk,” he says. “I’m not sure what it means, but he seemed worried.” </p><p>“I recall you having sketches of a watch in your journal,” says Lan Wangji. “But I assumed it was something you had dreamt up.”</p><p>“I hope he finds whatever it is he’s looking for,” agrees Wei Wuxian. “Now, would you like some cake?”</p>
<hr/><p>Wen Sizhui rushes into his dormitory room, slamming the door shut behind him.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” demands Lan Jingyi from where he’s cleaning his steamer trunk.</p><p>Wen Sizhui props a chair against the handle of the door and crosses to the trunk. “Let me borrow your trunk.”</p><p>“What for?” asks Lan Jingyi, but Wen Sizhui merely responds by folding himself into the trunk. “I don’t know if you can fit —”</p><p>“I can do it,” insists Wen Sizhui, tucking himself in tighter. “Done this plenty of times.”</p><p>“Where am I going to put my stuff, then?”</p><p>“It’s not forever!” Wen Sizhui starts to pull down the lid. “If someone comes in, <em> I’m not here</em>, okay?”</p><p>“How are you going to breathe —” begins Lan Jingyi, just as someone knocks at the door. Panicking, the other boy quickly sits down on the trunk, and Wen Sizhui has to close his eyes in order to acclimatise to the sudden stifling darkness all around him. </p><p>His mind slips back, absently, to hiding in trunks and cupboards like this at his grandmother’s house whenever his parents were arguing. His mother and father have now functionally separated, with his mother moving back to Xi’an where her parents were, and his father moving to Hong Kong for business. Being ensconced in this darkness is familiar and comforting, in a way, even though it is admittedly hard to breathe.</p><p>There’s a loud bang, slightly muffled within the trunk. Wen Sizhui holds his breath, hearing footsteps within the room.</p><p>“We’re looking for a boy,” a man’s voice rings out.</p><p>“Seven boys live here; you’re gonna have to be more specific,” says Lan Jingyi. </p><p>“I don’t appreciate your tone,” growls the man. “There was a boy that went this way a couple minutes ago. Tiny, skinny. Had a book.”</p><p>“I don’t remember seeing any boys fitting such a description,” replies Lan Jingyi.</p><p>“Liar,” declares the man. Wen Sizhui feels now, more keenly than ever before, the weight of the watch in his pocket. He exhales as quietly as he can, hoping that his friend is convincing enough to get the man to leave. “You. Check under the beds.”</p><p>“Clear,” says a new voice. </p><p>“Are you two all right?” wonders Lan Jingyi. “You sound like you’ve got a cold.”</p><p>“Silence,” hisses the first man. “His Majesty said the Time Lord was at this school. We followed his essence here.”</p><p>“Could’ve been passing through,” says the other one. “I don’t think we’re going to find it in here. We need a new scent trail anyway; this one’s getting old.”</p><p>“Hey, sorry,” interrupts Lan Jingyi. “Can’t help but ask, since I’m really curious, but — what in Heaven’s name is a Time Lord?”</p><p>There’s a long, horrible silence, ended only by a small whimper and a flump onto the ground. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him,” groans the second man.</p><p>“He’s no use to His Majesty dead,” replies the first. “We need his memories intact.” </p><p>“Why him?”</p><p>“Sanmao, you absolute idiot! He’s a member of the Lan family.”</p><p>“You reckon we should hold him for ransom?”</p><p>A slap. “Stop asking stupid questions,” growls the first man. “Now, help me carry him out.”</p><p>“How is an adolescent this heavy?” grumbles Sanmao, as he and the other man heft up Lan Jingyi’s unconscious body between them. “And where is His Majesty, anyway?”</p><p>The other man sniffs at the air. “Staff quarters,” he says, and the two of them carry Lan Jingyi away. The room they leave in their wake is quiet, empty… until, with a creak and a gasp, Wen Sizhui opens the lid of the trunk and unfolds himself, collapsing onto the cold stone floor. </p><p>“Now what?” he hisses at the watch when he opens it. </p><p><em> The time is not right, </em>it replies.</p><p>“That’s my friend they carried off because of you!” snarls Wen Sizhui, and hurls the watch against the wall. </p>
<hr/><p>“He says he doesn’t know anything about the watch,” reports Wen Ning to Wen Qing as he meets her just outside the kitchen.</p><p>His sister purses her lips. “Did you manage to get <em> inside </em>his office?” she wonders. </p><p>“No, he was with Professor Lan and he took the tray from me,” says Wen Ning. “Said he’d bring it down to the kitchen before they left.”</p><p>Wen Qing rubs her temples. “Okay. Well. Maybe we’re overreacting, but it’s still a good idea to find the watch, right?”</p><p>“Right,” agrees Wen Ning.</p><p>“And if we’re the ones who are holding onto it, then we’re not relying on the whims of a perception filter, right?”</p><p>Wen Ning nods, but then looks over Wen Qing’s shoulder and freezes. </p>
<hr/><p>The watch is still undamaged when Wen Sizhui picks it back up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I — just — what’s the point. You’re just a watch. I shouldn’t even have taken you. I’ll go return you to Professor Wei.”</p><p>He pockets the watch again, before cranking open one of the windows in the dormitory and clambering out, dropping down onto the flowerbed in a crouch. Ignoring the twinge of pain in his ankle, he straightens back up and starts for the staff lodgings — just in time to see the two men in linen suits appear in the window of Professor Wei’s office.</p><p>“Damn it,” curses Wen Sizhui, and rushes away. </p>
<hr/><p>“Yinzhu?” breathes Wen Ning. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Wen Qing turns as well to see one of the school maids staring at them. As the two Wens look on, the maid slowly tilts her head to the side and inhales sharply. </p><p>“Do you have a cold?” Wen Qing asks.</p><p>“Yes, I must have,” replies Yinzhu, her tone short yet faraway. She takes a step closer to them. </p><p>“If you have a cold, I could make you something in the kitchen,” offers Wen Qing.</p><p>“I couldn’t help but overhear the most nonsensical words,” replies Yinzhu, her eyes narrowing. “You talk of ‘perception filters’ as it is a fact of life and not an advanced piece of technology far beyond the grasp of these weak, backwards humans in this time period.”</p><p>“That’s definitely not stuff your average maid knows about,” mutters Wen Qing to her brother.</p><p>“Your patterns of speech,” says Yinzhu suddenly, raising a finger at the two of them. Wen Qing almost crosses her eyes trying to keep the maid’s fingertip in sight. “Not mannerly. Not of this time, either.”</p><p>“Who are you?” demands Wen Qing, as she and Wen Ning begin to circle Yinzhu warily. </p><p>“I am Yu Yinzhu,” states Yinzhu, her tone flat. “I come from Shandong Province.”</p><p>“No, I’m talking to the creature controlling Yu Yinzhu,” corrects Wen Qing, folding her hands behind her back. “This has all the symptoms of a possession, except she still has partial control of herself. So. Who are you, and are you planning to hurt this lady?”</p><p>A snarl suddenly rips its way out of Yu Yinzhu’s throat, a low, terrible sound that the real girl would never have made. “Not if she gives me what I want,” the voice growls, baring Yu Yinzhu’s teeth at them. “Where is the Time Lord?”</p><p>Wen Qing and Wen Ning look at one another, and dive out of the way just as Yu Yinzhu lunges at them. They start running down the corridor, ducking a bolt of red that barely misses Wen Ning’s heel. </p><p>“That’s not a weapon a maid should have!” shouts Wen Qing, pulling Wen Ning down with her as the second blast goes over their heads. </p><p>“Not a weapon <em> anyone </em> in this time period should have,” gasps Wen Ning as they round the corner. He turns back to peek down the hall and nearly gets blasted in the face for his troubles. </p><p>Wen Qing stares at the scorch mark in the back wall. “We have to split,” she says. “Draw Yinzhu away, find the watch.”</p><p>Wen Ning checks his own watch. “Professor Wei should have left for the party a short while ago,” he says. “I can get into his office from there.”</p><p>“I’ll double-check the Qiankun Box,” agrees Wen Qing. “Meet me at the party in an hour.”</p><p>Wen Ning frowns. “Do you even know where it is?”</p><p>“Rue Massenet,” says Wen Qing. “Ouyang Zizhen’s parents are going to it, too, remember?”</p><p>“You read his mail?” demands Wen Ning.</p><p>“I glanced over his shoulder!” Wen Qing smacks his shoulder, before taking off in the direction of the school’s side gate. “See you there!”</p><p>“Be careful!” Wen Ning shouts after her, before heading back into the hallway where Yu Yinzhu had been shooting at them just seconds ago.</p><p>The corridor is now empty. Wen Ning looks around him, shudders, and quickly rushes back to Wei Wuxian’s office.</p>
<hr/><p>Wen Sizhui skids out of the front gate of the school, rushing out in front of an oncoming rickshaw driver. “I need a ride,” he says, pulling out a couple coins.</p><p>“That’s enough to get you to Rue Massenet,” says the driver. </p><p>“What?” For the amount that he’d set down, this was practically highway robbery! But Wen Sizhui couldn’t protest, especially not when he hears a shout and turns to see the two linen-suited men tearing down the pathway to the school gates. “Okay, fine. Take me there,” he says, clambering into the seat. To his consternation, the driver merely begins to walk. “Faster, <em> please</em>!” </p>
<hr/><p>“Wen Qing!” exclaims Granny as Wen Qing lurches through the front gate of the alleyway. “What are you doing running around all crazed like that? It’s unbecoming!”</p><p>“I’ll show you unbecoming,” mutters Wen Qing under her breath, but only straightens up, smooths her hair back into its matronly bun, and smiles wider. “I’m sorry to call on you again at this hour, Granny. I know it’s very unusual.”</p><p>“What’s the matter with you?” wonders Granny.</p><p>Wen Qing shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. Granny clucks her tongue, and moves in for a hug. Wen Qing suffers herself to be so embraced, but freezes when she hears a loud inhale. </p><p>“A-are you okay, Granny?” she wonders, pulling back.</p><p>“Never been better,” replies Granny sweetly. “Would you care for some tea?”</p><p>Wen Qing nods, warily following the old woman back into the house. They head to the kitchen in the back, Wen Qing leaning against an old sideboard cabinet as Granny puts on the kettle for some tea.</p><p>“I heard you were planning to leave Shanghai very soon,” she says as she goes to the sideboard to fetch another teacup.</p><p>“Mm.” Wen Qing smiles. “Could I help you?”</p><p>“I can manage,” says Granny, though her hands tremble putting the tea into the pot. Wen Qing leans forward to help, but the old woman smacks her hand away. </p><p>“Go sit in the parlour,” she instructs. Wen Qing knows better than to protest, so she returns to the front of the house, to the musty old parlour with its antique vases and bronze Guanyin statues sitting on a set of old wooden bookcases. A severe-looking family portrait also hangs on one wall, showing a seated Granny flanked by a young couple, while a little boy peers up happily from his perch on Granny’s lap.</p><p>“My grandson,” says Granny. Wen Qing turns, startled, at the sound of her voice. The old woman chuckles drily, while Wen Qing takes a seat opposite her in the parlour. “He goes to your school, you know.”</p><p>“Does he, now? What’s his name? Maybe I’ve met him.”</p><p>“His school name is Sizhui,” says Granny. Her hands are still shaking as she tries to pour the tea into cups, so Wen Qing takes the pot and pours it for her instead. </p><p>“Wen Sizhui, right?” she asks, sniffing gingerly at the leaves. The aroma is a little odd; Granny might have forgotten to wash them. “He’s a good boy. Visits his friends even when they’re cutting classes by faking illness.”</p><p>Granny chuckles at that. “He can be too good for his own good,” she admits. Wen Qing says nothing, simply letting her cup of tea warm her hands. “I’m constantly worrying about him.”</p><p>Wen Qing swallows, watching the way Granny’s hands shake. Her stomach sinks as the old woman reaches under the parlour table and takes out a gun just like the one Yu Yinzhu had, aiming it at her head. </p><p>Slowly, Wen Qing sets down her tea and raises her hands. “You don’t have to do this,” she says. </p><p>“Then tell us,” replies Granny, her voice now low and menacing, “where the Time Lord is.”</p>
<hr/><p>Wei Wuxian’s office is darkened when Wen Ning gets there, the disorder in the room even more pronounced than usual. It’s almost as if someone has already turned it upside-down, looking for something.</p><p>Wen Ning feels as if his blood has turned to ice in his veins, especially as the door thuds closed behind him. He rushes for it, only to find it locked.</p><p>“I remember your scent,” says a voice from behind the desk. Outside the mullioned office windows, the sun is setting over the tops of the trees, casting their long jagged shadows across empty wood bookshelves and piles of overturned books. </p><p>“Who are you?” asks Wen Ning, turning away from the door with one last fruitless rattle at the handle. He tries to get a good look at the figure behind the desk, but all he can see is the back of Wei Wuxian’s chair.</p><p>The voice cackles, low and ominous. Wen Ning grits his teeth.</p><p>“Well?” he repeats, trying to inject all the courage he doesn’t feel into his voice. “Show yourself!”</p><p>Slowly, creakily, the chair turns. The desk lamp is turned on, too, its ruddy glow illuminating the face of a man who, if it were not for the sinister leer on his face, would look like your average paper pusher at any office on the Bund. </p><p>(Though, maybe the leer would help him fit in better.)</p><p>“You wouldn’t recognise me, of course,” says the man, shrugging. “This isn’t the body you saw me in last, anyway. It’s been quite a while since the Plaza of Sun and Flame, Wen Ning. About… oh, two months?”</p><p>Wen Ning stumbles back towards the door. “Captain Ruohan,” he breathes.</p><p>“Yes,” says Captain Ruohan, and the eyes of the man whose body he has stolen now glint with manic glee. He snaps his fingers, and the two linen-suited men seem to melt out of the darkness to seize Wen Ning by the arms. “Now, call me Your Majesty.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Title taken from "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWVfIqZHxGc">I Want to Fly Into the Sky</a>" by Grace Chang. The song itself might be from the 1950s, but the genre of the song is Shidaiqu, a fusion of Chinese folk song and jazz popular in the 1920s and 1930s. </p><p>Naming - Wen Ning and Wen Qing are from the modern era, so they don't have courtesy names like everyone else. This is one of the last generations with formalised courtesy names, as the practice was criticised during the May Fourth Movement of 1919 and eventually fell out of use.</p><p>Shenjiang Xinbao - One of the papers published in Shanghai at the time, more commonly known as Shen Bao. It was one of the most popular newspapers of its time, to the point that "shen bao zhi" became a generic term for newspaper.</p><p>St Cloud's - A pun on Yunshen (the first 2 characters of the Cloud Recesses: 云深; yún shēn, versus 云圣; yún shèng). It is a Western-style school in Shanghai, like MacTyeire School or St John's College, that caters to the Chinese elite.</p><p>Controversial [movie] about the Great War - <i>All Quiet on the Western Front</i>, which won the 3rd Oscars that year. Shanghai imported a lot of American movies, and going to the cinema was a popular pasttime.</p><p>Taotie, Hundun, Qiongqi, Taowu - The "four evil creatures of the world". I like to think in this AU Taotie are like Daleks, but more prone to kamikaze violence.</p><p>Literature department brown-nosing - the lit department is one of the most prestigious at an academic institution, and thus involves a lot of corruption and internal politics.</p><p>Trebuchets - in contrast, the sciences were largely ignored especially since they were Mohists, a 'rival' philosophy to Confucianism. The Mohists were historically known to be excellent siege engineers and mathematicians, as well as practitioners of 'impartial care' (equal treatment of all humans). (American readers please look up his "seven disasters of an unrighteous nation" because wow, things never change)</p><p>Hu Die &amp; Ruan Lingyu - Two popular Chinese actresses of the time period. Ruan Lingyu would later become known as the Marilyn Monroe of China especially given the scandals she was embroiled in and her subsequent suicide.</p><p>Japanese invasion - In 1931, the Mukden Incident will happen, where the Japanese invade Manchuria and begin WW2's Eastern theatre. Some parts of China still commemorate this.</p><p>Shikumen - A Shanghai-specific mix of the British row house &amp; Chinese architecture. The shikumen leads to an alley lined with houses that are supposed to be for one family, but in practice house multiple. </p><p>Qiankun Box - This AU's name for the TARDIS.</p><p>Sanmao - A popular cartoon in the later 1930s and 1940s of a character living in Old Shanghai. He is commonly seen with 3 strands of hair on his head (san mao) because of malnutrition, and lives in poverty and misery at a time of war and inflation. While he started as a reaction to society during the 2nd Sino-Japanese War, he is now one of the most recognisable Chinese cartoon characters and is still being continued to this day.</p><p>Rue Massenet - The old name for Sinan Road in the French Concession. One of the most interesting communities in Shanghai. More on this next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the world passes by (in the blink of an eye)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of the most fascinating neighborhoods in the French Concession of Shanghai is Rue Massenet. While not full of the ostentatiously wealthy like other streets in the Concession may be, Rue Massenet is nonetheless packed from end to end with the brightest and most revolutionary minds that Shanghai had to offer.</p><p>“There’s a rumour the spymaster of the Communists lives on this very street,” remarks Wei Wuxian as the family car drops him and Lan Wangji off in front of a magnificent French-style mansion. “Have you heard anything about it?”</p><p>“Both sides live here,” replies Lan Wangji tersely, nodding at the driver before striding up to the main gate. “As is the case with situations like these, both sides can live under the same roof.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian hums, but follows Lan Wangji through the gate up to the house itself nonetheless. They’re let in with a flourish of jazz trumpets, stepping into an opulent party with people of all nationalities socialising in every corner.</p><p>“Your brother sure knows how to throw a party,” remarks Wei Wuxian, smiling at a crooning singer arrayed in tightly-coiffed curls and a brocade qipao. </p><p>“Naturally.” Lan Wangji’s tone is hard. “No one does political networking quite like him.”</p><p>“Brother, you overestimate my ambition.” Wei Wuxian turns to see another handsome man, almost the spitting image of Lan Wangji, standing right beside them. “I only mean to entertain some friends on this pleasant September night.” </p><p>Lan Wangji purses his lips. “I was not aware that <em> Madam Jiang </em>was a friend of yours,” he remarks drily. Wei Wuxian startles at the name, as a young woman in her early thirties appears at Lan Xichen’s elbow, arrayed in a gorgeous purple qipao. </p><p>“Lan Xichen, you never mentioned your younger brother was as like you as twin jades in a set,” she remarks, eyes twinkling from over her glass of champagne. </p><p>“Never had the occasion to,” replies Lan Xichen, smiling wider. “He’s a busy man, teaching music at St Cloud’s School for Boys.” </p><p>“A worthy occupation,” says Madam Jiang. “And I hear such praise for his qin playing. I had hoped to be treated to it tonight.”</p><p>“My regrets,” replies Lan Wangji tersely. “I have not practiced.”</p><p>“Wangji,” rebukes Lan Xichen, nudging his brother. Lan Wangji arches an eyebrow, as if daring his brother to call him out on his reply, but Madam Jiang merely laughs, shaking her head.</p><p>“So witty!” she says, her smile only growing wider. “The literature department is all the poorer for not having you in it.” Her gaze then slides to Wei Wuxian, and she continues, “I had not expected you to bring a guest.”</p><p>“Wei Wuxian,” says Wei Wuxian, waving. “Physics.”</p><p>“How bold,” replies Madam Jiang cryptically. “There are some exciting new theories coming from Europe these days. But I imagine you stay more updated on that than I.” She smiles again. “I studied English.”</p><p>“English!” repeats Wei Wuxian. She laughs, nodding.</p><p>“Did most of my education in America,” she says. “Sometimes I like to say America has followed me home.” </p><p>“Ah, that’d be the Hollywood films in all the cinemas,” says Lan Xichen. “But that’s going to change very soon, mark my words. This country’s going to make movies just as exciting and glamorous as anything that’ll come out of Hollywood.” </p><p>“Your love for the arts is truly nonpareil,” declares Madam Jiang, taking Lan Xichen’s arm with an almost coquettish giggle. If it weren’t for the facts that she was married and very,<em> very </em> Christian, Wei Wuxian would’ve sworn she was flirting with Lan Wangji’s older brother. “Now, Mr Lan, as you are a true patron of our <em> most </em>modern art form, I trust that you won’t mind me making a couple little introductions of my own…” </p><p>“Absolutely not,” Lan Xichen says, as the two of them vanish into the crowd. “After all, look at what came of our meeting with Nie Huaisang…” </p><p>Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Wangji once their laughter has faded into lively jazz music. “Madam Jiang,” he breathes. “<em>The </em> Madam Jiang of the Song Sisters? You could’ve <em> warned </em> me!”</p><p>“She lives in the area,” replies Lan Wangji vaguely, looking through the crowd. Wei Wuxian in turn spies a server making his way through the crowd with canapés and champagne, and pats Lan Wangji’s shoulder.</p><p>“Let me get some drinks for us,” he suggests, and peels off into the crowd.</p>
<hr/><p>“This isn’t you, Granny,” says Wen Qing, continuing to stare down the barrel of the gun. “This is someone else, acting through you. I know you’re still in there, and I know you wouldn’t really pull that trigger.”</p><p>“Who are you to tell me what I will or won’t do?” hisses Granny, even though the terror is clear in her eyes and her hands are still trembling. “You are a guardian of the Red Box. You know where the Time Lord is.” </p><p>“I don’t,” says Wen Qing, her gaze unwavering even as Granny presses the tip of the gun against her forehead. She leans into it, staring the old woman down while searching for any hint of the human she had once been in her eyes. “We got a little split up along the way. I have no idea where he is now.”</p><p>“Oh? Maybe knowing that we have your brother will convince you otherwise,” replies Granny, her voice flat and cold. She points a finger at the radio, and the sound of static fills the room. But in between those bursts of static, Wen Qing can hear a faint, horrible whimpering — </p><p>“What’s happening to him?” she demands, her fingers gripping the edge of the parlour chair so tight she might leave nail marks on the wood. “What have you done!”</p>
<hr/><p>“Sick of the party already?” wonders Wei Wuxian when he finds Lan Wangji in the gardens surrounding the mansion, looking up at the stars. “I was going to get us champagne, but then I found some Emperor’s Smile,” he continues, holding out a bottle. “One for you, and one for me.”</p><p>“I do not drink,” says Lan Wangji, but takes a sip from it anyway. </p><p>Wei Wuxian laughs at that, taking a seat on the bench beside him. “I once dreamt of those stars up there,” he says, pointing at the little pinpricks of light sparkling against the inky night sky. “Up there, just below the Three Stars, is a marvellous nebula where new stars are being formed all the time. Imagine that… a star nursery.”</p><p>Lan Wangji leans in, peering up into the darkness with him. Cheery jazz music spills out of the back doors onto the moonlit lawn, all the way down to where they stand in the fragrant shadows of rose bushes and wisteria trees. Wei Wuxian smiles, pulling Lan Wangji in closer.</p><p>“I dreamt I took the big red box to the very edge of the nursery and dangled my feet out the door to watch it go by underneath me,” he says. “Like I was the Cowherd, kicking my heels in the waters of the Silver River.”</p><p>“If you were the Cowherd, then where is your Weaving Girl?” wonders Lan Wangji. His voice is thick with drink already, his head now resting fully on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.</p><p>Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Who do you think?” he wonders. Lan Wangji purses his lips.</p><p>“Jiang Yanli,” he says. “She disappeared from your journal, as if the hand of the Heavenly Emperor had plucked her from you.”</p><p>“She had someone to call her own, before she vanished,” says Wei Wuxian, his hand now resting lightly against Lan Wangji’s on the bench. Neither of them dare to pull away; the tension and warmth between them seems to draw them all the more closer. “The Resurrector has no one. The path he walks is a single-plank bridge, after all.”</p><p>All he gets in return is an amused huff. Lan Wangji’s hand is warm and pliant when Wei Wuxian takes it, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. </p><p>“Speaking of Jiangs, Madam Jiang Jieshi is incredibly impressive,” he remarks. “Your brother seems almost taken by her.”</p><p>“Of the two of us, he would know best how to flatter a woman,” remarks Lan Wangji drily. </p><p>Wei Wuxian laughs. “You see no point in dissembling?”</p><p>“The rest of the world does it well enough; they make such banquets of compliments that surely she has enough food for her appetite.” Lan Wangji takes another swig of the bottle, before pressing it back into Wei Wuxian’s hands. “Dance with me, Wei Ying.” </p><p>Wei Wuxian grins, setting down both of their bottles. “Sudden change in thought, Lan Zhan; what for?”</p><p>“Dance with me,” repeats Lan Wangji, “because I fear this may be my last chance.” </p><p>Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow, choosing to ignore the ominous tone in Lan Wangji’s statement. “Does someone as stickler as you even <em> know </em> how to dance?”</p><p>Lan Wangji responds by pulling him into a waltz in time with the music still flowing from the party in the house, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh and dance along. </p>
<hr/><p>“You will tell us,” hisses Captain Ruohan, as he prowls around Wen Ning and the two men holding him down, “where Professor Wei is.” </p><p>Wen Ning flinches, as the brand mark implanted in the nape of his neck sends another jolt of pain through his body. Captain Ruohan laughs at that, before leaning in closer with a leer.</p><p>“What a little fighter,” he taunts. “Not that it’ll do you much good, anyway. I always get what I want, in the end. And what I want is the Time Lord you’re protecting.”</p><p>Wen Ning splutters, swallowing down the compulsion to speak. Captain Ruohan seizes him by his lapels and throws him against the wall. </p><p>“Pitiful! It’s not as if a Time Lord will care about your sacrifice; in the long run you are yet another human shield he has created to hide behind. But if I consume him, if I gain his immortality, then I will reward you far more richly than he ever could. <em> Where is he hiding? </em>”</p><p>“You… you will never find him,” spits Wen Ning. Captain Ruohan lets go, and Wen Ning collapses to the ground in spasms of pain, screaming. </p><p>“Look at you, plucked out of time and space, following this wayward god like a puppy,” he sneers. “He and I go way back, you know, back when he had a different face, a different companion. Doesn’t that just <em> gall </em>you? Knowing that no matter how hard you try, it’ll always be someone else who gets to have his hearts?”</p><p>Wen Ning closes his eyes, feeling tears of pain trickle hot and shameful down his cheeks. He curls in on himself, gasping for air. It would be so easy to just give in to the whispers of the Captain in his ears, to just let go and obey… </p><p>“Hold on,” says Captain Ruohan suddenly, and the two linen-suited men pause in their ransacking of the office. “Ah, yes, yes! I’m a fool, I should’ve listened harder! The maid overheard these two talking about Professor Wei and Professor Lan together, and where else would Professor Lan be tonight if not at his brother’s party!”</p><p>“We’ll bring the car ‘round, boss,” says one of the two men.</p><p>“I’m not in a hurry,” says Captain Ruohan, prodding Wen Ning’s prone form with the toe of his shoes. He snaps his fingers. “We’ve already got a man on the inside.”</p>
<hr/><p>Almost as if someone had flicked an off switch on Granny, she suddenly collapses on the spot, unconscious. Wen Qing grabs her before she can upset the coffee table, laying her out on the sofa and examining her more closely. </p><p>At the base of her skull there lies a brand mark in the shape of a sun. Wen Qing examines it under the light of a table lamp before rushing into the back room, into the Qiankun Box, and fetching the Resurrector’s sonic dizi. </p><p>“No idea what I’m doing,” she mutters as she hovers over Granny with the flute, and blows a note. </p><p>Almost immediately, Granny’s eyes jolt open and she sits up, staring directly at the wall. Panicked, Wen Qing blows another note, and Granny collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.</p><p>“Okay,” says Wen Qing, rearranging the old woman on the couch and putting a cushion under her head. “That could come in handy, I think.” </p><p>And with that, she pockets the sonic dizi and rushes back out the front door. </p>
<hr/><p>After the rickshaw drops Wen Sizhui off at Rue Massenet, he quickly rushes to the Lan family house and slips in amid a set of gossiping aunties. </p><p>The party is in full swing with dancing, with couples waltzing along to jazzy folk tunes. Wen Sizhui sneaks through the standing crowd, scanning all the guests for any sign of Professor Wei. </p><p>“— and I thought, what a<em> fantastic </em>film! So lavish in the ways you depicted Chen Aili’s wealth and status. It was almost like this — this perfect glance into the life of a Shanghai socialite, so wonderfully contrasted with her modern, free-wheeling courtesan foil!” </p><p>Wen Sizhui rolls his eyes as he presses through a crowd of admirers gathered around a young man in an olive velvet jacket and a green fan. </p><p>“There’s something of the Wilde persuasion in <em> Pearl of the Orient</em>, I think,” one of the other admirers says, as the young man — Nie Huaisang, obviously — ducks modestly behind his fan, “but of course I hope the wit is the only commonality between the two!” </p><p>Wen Sizhui then spots Professor Wei with Professor Lan through a set of French doors leading into the gardens. The two of them have just stepped onto the back patio, Professor Wei laughing at something Professor Lan had just said. Wen Sizhui moves towards them, but then suddenly, someone tugs at the hem of his jacket.</p><p>“Hey,” says Lan Jingyi, when Wen Sizhui turns around. </p><p>“Hey,” agrees Wen Sizhui. “You’re okay?”</p><p>“Never been better,” replies Lan Jingyi, grinning. “Wanna grab a smoke? My cousins say they’re morally upstanding, but I know where Xichen-gege keeps his ‘guest cigarettes’.”  </p><p>Wen Sizhui glances back at where Professors Wei and Lan are standing, and sighs. “Sure,” he says. “Lead the way.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Pingping’s been trying to get me to work as a hostess at one of those new dance halls down the street. She says the pay is so much better and you get to meet all sorts of people, but I don’t see how much different it is from being a courtesan…”</p><p>In the back gardens of the Lan family mansion on Rue Massenet, a small crowd of maids are having a smoke break. Wen Qing parks her bike against the back wall behind a shrub and creeps past them into the house.</p><p>“I do not recall seeing you before,” says the butler when Wen Qing bursts into the kitchen, but she only holds up the Resurrector’s psychic paper at him. His eyes go slightly out of focus, before he clears his throat and moves off. Wen Qing then moves on into the party, scouting the room for a sign of Wei Wuxian.</p><p>She spots Lan Wangji instead, sitting at a table on the patio nursing a bottle of Emperor’s Smile. “Professor Lan?” she ventures, stepping out of the French doors and approaching him. Lan Wangji makes a noncommittal hum, which Wen Qing takes as a sign to sit down at the table with him. “Where is Professor Wei?”</p><p>“Refreshment,” says Lan Wangji, gesturing vaguely into the party somewhere. Wen Qing gently prises the bottle from his grasp.</p><p>“How many of these have you had?” she asks.</p><p>“One,” says Lan Wangji, pointing to the bottle. Wen Qing chuckles. </p><p>“A bit of a lightweight you are, then,” she says, smiling. “I’m cutting you off. Doctor’s orders.”</p><p>“What are you doing here?” mutters Lan Wangji. </p><p>“I was supposed to meet my brother here,” says Wen Qing. “He asked Professor Wei about a watch. Do you remember seeing one?”</p><p>Lan Wangji nods. “Not there anymore,” he adds. “Someone took it.”</p><p>“Do you have any idea who?”</p>
<hr/><p>“Let me get that for you,” says Wen Sizhui, helping Lan Jingyi with the match. The other boy lights his cigarette, but coughs just as soon as he takes a drag, almost dropping it to the ground. </p><p>“You sure you don’t want one?” wheezes Lan Jingyi.</p><p>“Based on how you’re reacting, no,” replies Wen Sizhui, chuckling. Lan Jingyi takes another drag, and then sniffs heavily at the garden air. Wen Sizhui looks around, seeing the blurs of people dancing inside the house, and the silhouettes of Professor Lan and Matron Wen talking on the patio.</p><p>Wen Sizhui raises an eyebrow. “Cigarette smoke really smells that good?” he wonders. </p><p>“No, no, there’s something more.” Lan Jingyi drops the cigarette and grinds it out against the damp evening grass. He then turns, and sniffs again at Wen Sizhui. “You smell different.”</p><p>“I bathed recently?” wonders Wen Sizhui.</p><p>“Mm, no, no, something more.” Lan Jingyi suddenly grabs his wrist and inhales sharply. “You stink of Time Lord.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Wen Qing!” exclaims Wei Wuxian, having returned with a small platter of finger foods. “Fancy seeing you here. How’s your brother doing?”</p><p>“I’d like to know that, too,” agrees Wen Qing. “We need to use the watch.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian pauses, frowns, and sets down the platter on the patio table. “What watch?” he asks.</p><p>“The pocket-watch that’s usually on your desk in your office,” replies Wen Qing. “My brother asked you about it earlier as well, but things have changed. Captain Ruohan has found us.”</p><p>“Captain Ruohan?” echoes Wei Wuxian. “What in Heaven’s name are you talking about?”</p><p>“You wrote of this Captain Ruohan,” says Lan Wangji, his words still slightly slurred. “A tyrant you helped overthrow in the far future, yet in your own past.”</p><p>“He’s here now,” insists Wen Qing. “That red flare? The new tower?”</p><p>“Could be the Japanese,” dismisses Wei Wuxian.</p><p>“But the Japanese don’t invade until <em> next year</em>,” Wen Qing points out. “And they don’t get to Shanghai until the year after that. It’s Captain Ruohan, sir; he’s possessed people at the school and he wants you.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, everything I wrote about was supposed to be complete nonsense,” scoffs Wei Wuxian. </p><p>“Except it’s not,” says Wen Qing, rising to her feet. “None of this,” she gestures to everything around them, “is real. I mean, come on! It’s 1930s Shanghai, for gods’ sake!”</p><p>Wei Wuxian splutters at that. “Of course it’s 1930s Shanghai! That’s where we are currently! Have you gone completely mad?” </p><p>“No, <em> you </em>need to snap out of it,” says Wen Qing, taking out the sonic dizi and pointing it at him. “Do you know what this is?” she asks.</p><p>Wei Wuxian takes the dizi with trembling hands, saying nothing. </p><p>“Wei Ying, what is that?” wonders Lan Wangji.</p><p>“He knows what it is; he wrote about it,” says Wen Qing. “And those aliens in the journal, they’re all real, too. One of them has found us and is coming after us, and all we need is <em> you. </em>”</p><p>Wei Wuxian’s brows furrow. “Me,” he repeats. </p><p>Wen Qing nods. “That man in your journals is real, too. He’s you. <em> You’re </em> the Resurrector.” She turns to Lan Wangji, who is staring between them both in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You know he’s not like any other man,” she says, pointing to Wei Wuxian. “He speaks of the most wonderful things, doesn’t he? Things that should exist far beyond our current views of the universe, people and places and creatures that aren’t of this earth or time.”</p><p>Across Lan Wangji’s cold, handsome features flickers the faintest flame of understanding, the first hint of a spring thaw welling in his eyes. </p><p>“And when he looks at you, you know there’s something else deep inside him. Something older and greater than the man standing in front of you.” Wen Qing’s smile is sad now, as she looks back at Wei Wuxian. “Even with all evidence to the contrary, you know that this man is going to break your heart, and yet you can’t help but give it to him anyway.” </p><p>But no sooner had those words come out of her mouth does there come a loud scream, followed by a horrendous crashing noise. “<em>We will have silence! </em>” screams the voice of Captain Ruohan, as the music abruptly grinds to a halt in a panicked rush to obey.</p><p>Wen Qing feels all of the blood draining from her face. “Professor Wei, forget what I just said,” she says hastily, shoving the sonic dizi back into her coat pocket. “Don’t say a word to them.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Jingyi!” hisses Wen Sizhui, struggling to pull his hand away from Lan Jingyi’s. “Let go of me!”</p><p>“I’ve smelled Professor Wei earlier during the party and he was very,<em> very </em> human,” explains Lan Jingyi, now tugging him back towards the party. “Yet Matron Wen insists he’s the Time Lord, while you’re the one who smells like one. Something’s not adding up.”</p><p>“It’s nothing!” insists Wen Sizhui. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” </p><p>“Shut up!” growls Lan Jingyi, as the sound of a gunshot rings out followed by a bolt of red light completely disintegrating one of the party-goers. The music turns into screaming, as guests and servers alike begin to flee the scene. Wen Sizhui sees Nie Huaisang and his admirers run for the back exit of the house, while Lan Xichen moves to shield Madam Jiang Jieshi from the mad-eyed man pointing a gun at all of the stunned partygoers in the room. </p><p>“Now, then,” says the man, leering at Professor Wei. He’s joined by two men in linen suits, a maid, and Professor Wei’s valet Wen Ning, all of whom look as eerie and vacant as Lan Jingyi does at this moment. “I have some questions for Professor Wei Wuxian.”</p><p>“I can do better,” says Lan Jingyi, yanking Wen Sizhui with him to the front of the crowd. “I overheard them talking. He’s the Resurrector.” </p><p>“Oh?” the man raises an eyebrow, leering at Professor Wei. “You’ve changed your face since I last saw you.”</p><p>Professor Wei blinks at him. “Captain Ruohan, I’m told? Please, there must be some big misunderstanding. I have no idea what any of this means or why you want me, but —”  </p><p>“<em>Silence!</em>” bellows Captain Ruohan, and Professor Wei startles as if suddenly struck dumb. “Still an irritating motor-mouth, I see.” He takes a deep sniff. “And you’ve become a stupid, dull little human too. For me? You shouldn’t have.”</p><p>“Of course I’m human,” snaps Professor Wei. “I’m as human as you or anyone else in this room.”</p><p>“Wrong!” declares Captain Ruohan. “You are not supposed to be human, like how <em> I </em> am not supposed to be human. I have chased you across millenia, seeking my revenge for the Nightless Empire. And here we are at last.” </p><p>“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” demands Professor Wei. “This is madness!” </p><p>“Shut up!” The lights in the room begin to flicker, as the shadow of Captain Ruohan seems to grow ever taller against the lavish mansion walls. “All these months of searching and here you are, no good to me in that useless human husk. Change back. <em> Now! </em> Or else —” he turns, and points his gun at Wen Ning, “you can say nighty-night to little Ningning here.”</p><p>“Please let him go,” pleads Professor Wei. “He has nothing to do with it. Let him go.”</p><p>“You always did have a love of the unconventional,” sneers Captain Ruohan. “The downtrodden, the persecuted. Weaklings. As long as men like you exist, there will never be order in the world.”</p><p>“But perhaps just the servant is not enough,” cuts in the maid’s voice, as she pushes Professor Lan out of the crowd as well, an identical gun pressed to the small of his back. “Wen Ning and his sister did talk of a certain music professor who’d caught Professor Wei’s eye,” she continues. A low gasp ripples through the room, as Professor Lan’s face pales in sober fear. “Perhaps if we broke his little human heart, the Time Lord will emerge.”</p><p>Wen Sizhui watches as Professor Wei looks fearfully between his options. “Well?” wonders Captain Ruohan. “Which one of your little friends will it take for you to change back?”</p><p>“This is madness!” breathes Professor Wei. Wen Sizhui can feel the watch ticking inside his pocket. <em> Use me, </em> it seems to say. <em> Use me! </em></p><p>He slips his free hand into the pocket and opens the watch. There’s a sudden burst of gold light, causing Captain Ruohan to spasm and clutch his head. Lan Jingyi also does the same, which is all Wen Sizhui needs to pull himself free and take off into the crowd.</p><p>“The Time Lord!” bellows Captain Ruohan. “Find it!”</p><p>“Not so fast!” hisses Wen Ning, having wrenched the gun from Captain Ruohan. He points it at him, looking back at the maid. “Hands where I can see them!”</p><p>Captain Ruohan twitches his fingers, and Wen Ning involuntarily jerks with pain, but he staggers back into position, clutching at his nape with one hand. “Drop your weapon,” he breathes, before firing a warning shot into the ceiling. “I mean it, <em> drop them</em>.” </p><p>Slowly, the maid complies, and Professor Lan rushes to Professor Wei’s side. Wen Ning takes a deep, steadying breath. </p><p>“Sister,” he pants, looking at Matron Wen. “Buy yourself some time.”</p><p>“Ningning —” she begins, but Wen Ning merely nods. Matron Wen sighs, takes a metal dizi out of her coat pocket, and blows a note. Immediately, all of Captain Ruohan’s underlings jerk up stiffly, including Wen Ning himself. Matron Wen blows another note, and they all turn towards Captain Ruohan.</p><p>“Okay, Professor Wei,” says Matron Wen, looking sidelong at him. “Get everyone else out of here.”</p><p>“Do as she says!” shouts Madam Jiang, and the rest of the partygoers flee immediately. </p><p>“You too, Song Mei-ling,” says Matron Wen, not taking her eyes off of Captain Ruohan. Madam Jiang’s jaw drops, almost as if offended at her impertinence, but Professor Lan pulls her away at the last minute, and Wen Sizhui follows them.</p><p>“Get the warning out,” says Professor Lan to Madam Jiang as soon as they hit the main road of Rue Massenet, now full of fleeing partygoers and panicked pedestrians. “Have everyone take shelter immediately. Prepare for attack.”</p><p>“This Captain is but one man,” protests Madam Jiang.</p><p>“One man can be enough,” replies Professor Lan. Madam Jiang stares back up at him for a moment, before nodding tersely and hailing a cab, clambering inside with rushed words to the driver. The car speeds off, just as Professor Wei rushes out of the house followed by Matron Wen.</p><p>“What are you all still doing here?” she demands, herding them down the street with the metal dizi. “You want to be captured?”</p><p>“What about your brother?” asks Professor Wei.</p><p>“You’re useless as a human,” grouses Matron Wen, tugging him along by the wrist. “Run!”</p>
<hr/><p>In the remnants of the party, Captain Ruohan snaps his fingers, and the underlings all jerk to attention once more. “That’s the last time any human will get the better of me in this town,” he hisses. “That damned Resurrector has put his Time Lord self somewhere else!”</p><p>“It was coming from the boy,” says Lan Jingyi, his voice dull and eyes glassy. “He smelt of Time Lord.”</p><p>“We smelt it too,” agrees the linen-suited men.</p><p>“The grandmother is awake again,” adds the maid, gingerly rubbing her wrist. “Should we fetch the Box from her?”</p><p>“Yes,” says Captain Ruohan. “We might need it.” He turns towards Wen Ning. “So quiet, little rebel. Not going to share anything with the class, I imagine.”</p><p>Wen Ning says nothing, not even when the pain from the brand mark jolts down his spine. Captain Ruohan chuckles.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. Soon, I will have no need of useless puppets like you. You two!” He points to the linen-suited men. “Fetch me the Box. The rest of us are going to school.”</p>
<hr/><p>Wei Wuxian has never run this far or this fast before, and definitely not in the dark. In spite of foreign military and police outposts, the French Concession is notorious enough with its crime rates that he usually tries not to travel after dark at all. </p><p>Still, desperate times calls for desperate measures, and on this night the rumours of a shooter on Rue Massenet have indeed emptied the rest of the neighbourhood streets. </p><p>Soon, Wei Wuxian finds himself at the familiar gates of St Cloud’s School for Boys. With Lan Wangji and Wen Qing beside him, they rush back onto campus. “What are we doing back here?” wonders Lan Wangji, as Wei Wuxian starts steering them towards his office. “Are we not doing something to fight the Captain?”</p><p>“The watch,” says Wei Wuxian. “Wen Qing kept saying something about a watch. It was last seen in my office, wasn’t it? So we start there.”</p><p>
  <em> (How could it be true? How could any of it be true?) </em>
</p><p>“What in Heaven’s name is going on?” demands the Headmaster’s voice, causing the three of them to freeze in their tracks halfway up the staircase in the staff quarters. Lan Qiren is a man whose schedule is as regimented as the Earth’s orbit around the Sun, and he hates deviating from it as much as he hates all other forms of deviation in life. </p><p>Wei Wuxian puts on his most winning smile, as if he hadn’t just witnessed people dying at a party a couple hours earlier and had a price put on his own head by some future megalomaniacal dictator from outer space. “We can explain,” he begins, before realising he can’t even begin to explain any of that to someone the likes of Lan Qiren.</p><p>“Uncle,” remarks Lan Wangji, quirking an eyebrow. “I had expected you to be at my brother’s party.”</p><p>“Never got a taste for jazz,” replies Headmaster Lan, wrinkling his nose. “Did something happen?”</p><p>Lan Wangji nods. “Professor Wei is in danger,” he says. </p><p>“Then why not go to the police?” wonders Headmaster Lan. “Certainly doesn’t excuse you three knocking around in the middle of the night. What do you think this place is? Your house?” </p><p>“Is it that late already?” wonders Wen Qing.</p><p>“It’s too late!” crows the voice of Captain Ruohan. “Wei Wuxian, come out and face me, you coward! I have your big red box!” </p><p>The three of them rush to the window. Sure enough, out in the courtyard there stands Captain Ruohan, still with his gun pressed to Wen Ning’s head, while the two linen-suited men, the maid, and Lan Jingyi stand beside him. But now behind him there is a red lacquered palanquin, and with the maid there now hobbles an old grandmother with the same glassy stare as the rest.</p><p>“Oh, Granny,” whispers Wen Qing. </p><p>“You recognise her?” asks Wei Wuxian.</p><p>“You parked the Qiankun Box in her back room,” replies Wen Qing. “Surely you remember the Box, Resurrector. You have to.”</p><p>“You wrote about it frequently,” adds Lan Wangji, his expression stony. </p><p>“What sort of devilry is this?” growls Headmaster Lan, having joined them at the window as well. He pulls back, and begins to stride down the stairs towards the courtyard. “Trespassers at my school are not welcome! All of you need to get out of here! Now!”</p><p>“But what about us?” asks the maid and Lan Jingyi in eerie unison, tilting their heads at Headmaster Lan. “Don’t we belong here?”</p><p>“I don’t pretend to know what sort of things my students and staff get up to in their free time, but if it compromises the values and security of this school, I can and will call for your expulsion and swift removal,” snaps Headmaster Lan. “I hope I’ve made myself clear.”</p><p>“Perfectly,” says the maid, and shoots the ground just before his feet. Headmaster Lan stops in his tracks, his expression barely containing his apoplectic rage.</p><p>“We’re not here to fight,” says Captain Ruohan. “We’re here to make you an offer. Wei Wuxian!” he calls in a louder voice. “You may be human now, but that Time Lord part of you still exists somewhere on this campus. In fact, we’ve narrowed it down for you. A Wen for a Wen.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian looks at Wen Qing, whose face is pressed hard against the mullioned glass window.</p><p>“We will give you back your friend Wen Ning, but in exchange, we want the student Wen Sizhui,” continues Captain Ruohan. </p><p>“What’s going on?” demands Headmaster Lan.</p><p>“Run along now, old man,” jeers the maid, firing another bolt at his toes. “Run back, and tell Wei Wuxian we mean business!”</p><p>Headmaster Lan quickly scrambles back into the staff building. “Wangji, whatever the devil is going on out there, you need to sort it out, <em> right now</em>,” he hisses as he scampers back up the stairs. “I will not see bloodshed on this campus.”</p><p>Lan Wangji snaps to attention, bowing in acquiescence to his uncle. Headmaster Lan nods back, jerky and shell-shocked, before disappearing back into his room to ostensibly pretend nothing is happening outside.  </p><p>“Right,” says Wei Wuxian. “They want Sizhui. A student. Why do they want a student?”</p><p>“Why not?” asks Wen Sizhui’s voice suddenly from behind him. Wei Wuxian turns around to see the young man standing there, hands stuffed tightly in his pockets. “That’s my friend and my grandmother out there. I have to make sure they’re safe.”</p>
<hr/><p>“No,” says Matron Wen almost immediately. “No, Sizhui, you don’t get to decide this.”</p><p>“Don’t I?” wonders Wen Sizhui, his voice a little wry, a little deprecating. He strides forward, shrugging. “Am I not the one he’s exchanging your brother for?” </p><p>“There’s other ways we can get Wen Ning back,” says Matron Wen, her voice desperate. She takes out the sonic dizi again. “We can play this. We can turn his underlings against him again.”</p><p>“But for how long?” asks Wen Sizhui. “They just went right back as soon as you got out of range. If he’s willing to swap us out, then that means there’s a chance he’ll give up what hold he has on Wen Ning in order to get a hold on me.”</p><p>“You are not sacrificing yourself to that man,” snaps Matron Wen. She turns to Professor Wei. “Tell him. Tell him he’s not sacrificing himself to that man.”</p><p>Professor Wei says nothing, only looks at Wen Sizhui with the sad, weathered eyes of the Resurrector. In a way, he understands. Deep down, even in this human form of his, he understands.</p><p>
  <em> It is time. </em>
</p><p>“I have to be with my Granny,” says Wen Sizhui, extending his hand to his physics teacher. “It’s been an honour, Professor Wei.” </p><p>Professor Wei shakes his hand, rapidly blinking away tears. Wen Sizhui pulls back, smiling still, before turning and walking down the stairs, raising his hands as he strides out towards the Captain and the cohort around the big red box. </p><p>“Sizhui!” gasps Wen Ning, only for Captain Ruohan to dig his blaster in harder. </p><p>“It’s all right,” says Wen Sizhui sweetly. “You should be with your sister.” </p><p>“Yes,” agrees Captain Ruohan, his hand lurching out to grab Wen Ning by the nape. Wen Ning yowls in pain, before lurching forward and collapsing onto the grass. The Captain then holds that hand out for Wen Sizhui. “Kneel, boy.” </p><p>Wen Sizhui kneels, closing his eyes. The brand burns as it sears itself into the base of his neck. He concentrates his thoughts on his grandmother, standing frail beside the big red box, and keeps his eyes closed. </p><p>“Rise,” says Captain Ruohan. Wen Sizhui rises. “Now, tell me. Where is the Time Lord?” </p><p>Wen Sizhui smiles. “I gave him the watch,” he replies. </p>
<hr/><p>“Something has gone wrong,” warns Lan Wangji, as Wen Ning rushes upstairs and into the tearful embrace of his sister. Beside him, Wei Wuxian stares down at the pocket-watch in his hand, before looking back out at the Captain roaring in soundless fury across the empty courtyard. </p><p>Then, in a flash of light, the entire group vanishes. “Where’ve they gone?” demands Wei Wuxian, pressing his face to the window.</p><p>“His ship,” says Wen Qing. They rush up the stairs, up through a window at the top floor onto the roof of the staff building. From here, they can look out across the quiet low-rises of the French Concession, all the way out to the distant buildings of the Bund and the Huangpu River at night — </p><p>And a tall tower with lighted spheres, set down decades too early on the Pudong side of the river. As they watch, the tower begins to emit smoke, like a rocket ship blasting up into the sky. </p><p>“Are they leaving?” wonders Lan Wangji.</p><p>“No, the Captain wouldn’t leave without getting what he came here for,” says Wei Wuxian, watching the ship vanish into the evening clouds above the Bund.</p><p>“Then why is he —” begins Lan Wangji, just as a bolt of crimson falls down from the sky onto the city below. </p><p>The sound of air raid sirens begin to wail. “War comes to Shanghai a year early,” breathes Wei Wuxian, his knuckles going white against the cold metal of the pocket-watch. </p><p>“War has been in Shanghai for a while,” corrects Lan Wangji. “It just was not this obvious before.”</p><p>“He’s trying to flush me out,” says Wei Wuxian, through gritted teeth. “No, he doesn’t care about me. Not Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian. He wants the Resurrector.” He turns to Wen Ning and Wen Qing. “Why does he want the Resurrector this bad?”</p><p>“Because the Resurrector gave his subjects hope,” replies Wen Ning. “And through that hope, they destabilised his regime.”</p><p>“His is not the first empire the Resurrector has felled,” adds Wen Qing. “Nor should it be the last.”</p><p>Wei Wuxian looks back down at the pocket-watch in his hands. “But what if I don’t want it?” he asks. “What if I don’t want to fell any empires or be immortal or any of that? Why can’t I just be Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, and live my life without envies?”</p><p>“Because the world needs the Resurrector,” says Wen Ning.</p><p>“But what if Lan Zhan needs Wei Ying?” demands Wei Wuxian, pulling back from all of them, even from Lan Wangji, whose face he can’t even bear to look at in this very moment. “What am I going to do then, if I become the Resurrector and forget all about him? Will — will <em> we </em> just become a story then? An entry in a journal of impossible things?” </p><p>“Wei Ying —” begins Lan Wangji, as Wei Wuxian sinks down onto the roof, his vision blurring with tears. The world narrows down to Lan Wangji, to the warmth of his hands against Wei Wuxian’s skin, the smell of smoke and Emperor’s Smile still clinging to his clothes. “Wei Ying, look at me. That man in the journal saves millions of lives. You can do the same.”</p><p>“What if,” says Wei Wuxian, looking determinedly away from him still, “what if I just gave him the watch? What if I let them have the Resurrector, so I can stay here as I am?”</p><p>“You and I both know the dangers of appeasement,” says Lan Wangji, his voice quiet and grave. “If you give a tyrant what he wants, all he will do is take. More, and more, until there is nothing left. He would rebuild his Nightless Empire, and like the ten suns of old it will scorch the world until it is a barren husk.”</p><p>“But they would all have me die,” says Wei Wuxian, now closing his eyes to squeeze out the tears crowding his vision. He feels them run down his cheeks, just as he feels the world around them roar and shake with the screams of the air raid sirens and the explosions of the bombardment. “They would all have executed me to bring back this Resurrector.”</p><p>“There is no other way!” insists Wen Qing. “The original plan was to lay low until he died off, until he found us here!”</p><p>“Then you knew all along!” screams Wei Wuxian, lurching towards her voice. “You knew all along that one day I would have to die, and you let me fall — you let me —”</p><p>“We didn’t know how to stop you!” exclaims Wen Ning. “He didn’t give us instructions for that!”</p><p>“So he never thought he was going to fall in love?” demands Wei Wuxian. “What kind of a life is that? What’s so great about his life then?”</p><p>“Because he is everything,” says Wen Ning, his voice now quiet and reverent. “He walks the single-plank bridge through space and time so that the rest of the universe doesn’t have to. He is darkness and light, fire and ice, life and death. He is the heart of every galaxy, the soul of every supernova, and he means everything — <em> everything! </em> — to me. To everyone whose lives he touches, even for the briefest of moments.” </p><p>“But he wouldn’t be a normal man, with a normal job, a normal love,” says Wei Wuxian, looking up at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji reaches out, brushes his hair out of his eyes with the smallest of smiles. </p><p>“These are not normal times,” he points out, pressing their foreheads together. Wei Wuxian is reminded again of just this afternoon in his study, which now feels like a lifetime ago. “Even if you were to stay, the path we would have walked together would not be easy.” </p><p>He holds out his hand, and Wei Wuxian puts the watch into it, and suddenly the future bursts in bright colours before his eyes. Rushed flights further and further south, always a step ahead of war and famine, always trying to find a space to call their own. Crammed into an apartment in Hong Kong, avoiding the whispered gossip of other families. A long voyage across the Pacific to the United States, swept up in more turmoil and protest and fighting for the rights to live and love as any other — </p><p>“But he will not love you,” protests Wei Wuxian, looking up at Lan Wangji. <em> Not like I can, with every beat of my singular, borrowed heart. Lan Zhan, can’t you see?  </em></p><p>“It is enough that I had this time with you,” replies Lan Wangji. “It is enough that among the thousands of souls within this city, you chose mine.” </p><p>The future shifts, too, within their hands. A quiet farm in the countryside, removed from the turmoil of the world. Wei Wuxian beaming with the day’s catch, Lan Wangji spinning cloth inside their little hut. Safe and happy and together. </p><p>“Did you see?” breathes Wei Wuxian, taking the watch from Lan Wangji’s hand. It feels so warm, so delicate, its clockwork ticks echoing in his palm like a little heartbeat. “All that we could be?”</p><p>Lan Wangji nods. “What will you do?”</p>
<hr/><p>It has been so long since he last rained death and destruction down on some hapless weaklings that Captain Ruohan had almost forgotten how fun it could be. From the vantage point of his tower ship he and his underlings can look down at this puny human settlement, and fire at whatever strikes his fancy. </p><p>“Captain Ruohan!” exclaims a voice from behind, and Captain Ruohan turns to see Wei Wuxian stumble in, colliding with one of the panels as he does. “Captain Ruohan, I’m coming on behalf of the good people of Shanghai to ask you to stop the attack.”</p><p>Captain Ruohan frowns. “Why?”</p><p>“Because… because your quarrel is with the Resurrector, not with them, so it’d be really bad if you continued to hurt innocent civilians?”</p><p>“They’re harbouring the Resurrector,” one of the linen-suited men points out snidely. “You’d be a fool to spare them.”</p><p>“Well, what if I gave you the Resurrector?” asks Wei Wuxian, holding out the pocket-watch. </p><p>Captain Ruohan snaps his fingers, and the maid steps forward, sniffing him. “Still human,” she reports.</p><p>Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Yeah, well, the Resurrector’s too much trouble. And I didn’t want to go.”</p><p>“You’re a fool,” replies Captain Ruohan. “Give me the watch, and I’ll stop the bombardment.”</p><p>“Stop the bombardment, and I’ll give you the watch.”</p><p>Captain Ruohan’s jaw twitches. “Fine.” He throws a switch, calling off the strikes, and the bumbling human stumbles in closer, crashing into another panel as he does. </p><p>“Here you go,” says Wei Wuxian, lurching into the dashboard as he drops the watch into Captain Ruohan’s hand. </p><p><em> Finally. </em> Finally, Captain Ruohan holds the power and immortality of a Time Lord in his hands. He snaps a finger, and throws Wei Wuxian away from him into the opposite wall. The stupid human lashes out and hits another panel on the way down, finally coming to a slump on the ship’s floor.</p><p>“You don’t realise what you’ve just given me,” sneers Captain Ruohan, stroking the edges of the watch, the grooves. “You’ve given me infinite power and lifetimes beyond my wildest dreams. And with it, I will destroy this stupid little planet and reach out into the galaxies beyond. The Nightless Realm shall rise again, and this time, the Resurrector won’t be there to stop it!”</p><p>He clicks open the watch, and all he gets is a ticking clock face. </p><p>“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. “That’s strange. I could’ve sworn —”</p><p>Captain Ruohan flings the watch at him. The Resurrector catches it neatly in his hand.</p><p>“You know, it’s amazing what you can do with a little olfactory misdirection,” he says, slowly picking himself up off the ground. “Just a little swap of human-Time Lord there to throw you off track! Rather elementary trick, though. Nothing compared to my next one.”</p><p>He blows a note on his sonic dizi, and the brands controlling all of the underlings disappear. Wen Sizhui and Lan Jingyi immediately catch Wen Sizhui’s collapsing grandmother. The Resurrector winks at them, and nods his head towards the hyperlift. </p><p>“But wait!” he shouts. “There’s more!” </p><p>Suddenly, the sound of alarms fills the ship, causing the other underlings to start fleeing for the stairs. The Resurrector grins at Captain Ruohan. </p><p>“Seems like there’s a bit of a power misdirection here,” he says, already stepping back towards the hyperlift doors. “See, the problem with a top-down system is that it’s not sustainable in the long run. And when you knock out the base, the rest of it comes crashing down very, very quick.”</p><p>Captain Ruohan lunges at him, but the Resurrector merely steps back onto the hyperlift.</p><p>“That’s the problem with a strongman like you,” he says. “You get too caught up in yourself. And then you forget that it just takes one idiot pressing the right buttons at the right time to make the whole thing blow up in your face. Hope you like taking the stairs!”</p><p>And with that, Wen Sizhui slams the doors and presses a button, and the hyperlift whisks them all rapidly out of sight. </p><p>All around him is the smell of burning metal and the sound of alarms. Captain Ruohan stumbles down through the emergency stairs, but only manages to make it about halfway before he hears the loud whirring noise of the Qiankun Box. Wen Sizhui must have led the Resurrector right to it. There’s the sound of a mighty explosion from the command deck above.</p><p>The big red box appears to him out of the fire and the smoke, and the door swings open. </p><p>Captain Ruohan had thought the toppling of his reign had been the worst that the Resurrector could offer him. He realises now, though, that that had been him showing mercy.</p><p>Captain Ruohan had wanted power, had wanted eternal life. And the Resurrector gave him exactly what he asked for, by bringing him to the barren moon of Yiling and transforming him into a tree. There he would grow forevermore, consuming only the light of Yiling’s star until the end of time.</p><p>Such is the will and the power of the Resurrector.</p>
<hr/><p>When the first rays of dawn appear over the mountains, Lan Wangji hears the tell-tale thrum of the big red box, and knows the deed is done. </p><p>For so much of his life, he’d been trying to fit into the boxes his family had set out for him. Perfect scholar, perfect gentleman, perfect husband-to-be. But then came a young man with a deep love of the stars and an even deeper love of Emperor’s Smile, and Lan Wangji had realised with alarming quickness that he didn’t want to live in boxes anymore. </p><p>“So this is it, then,” he says, unable to turn and look at the man in the doorway of the office, of this office once filled to the brim with books and sketches and dreams of impossible things. <em> Impossibilities made into realities, </em>Lan Wangji thinks, his gaze fixed determinedly on the old leather sofa by the desk instead. Wei Wuxian had been an impossibility made real, and he had kissed Lan Wangji there, right on that sofa itself. </p><p>“It doesn’t have to be,” says Wei Wuxian’s voice, but Lan Wangji knows that man is no more. “He’s still in here, you know. I can still be him, if you want me to.”</p><p>“A mind like that could never be confined,” replies Lan Wangji, “not even by this city, containing the entire world within its borders.” </p><p>“Are the people safe?” wonders that voice, that marvellous, terrible voice. “Is Madam Jiang Jieshi…?”</p><p>“Determined to forget, according to my brother,” replies Lan Wangji.</p><p>“Good. Hope I didn’t damage history too badly,” says the Resurrector, and somehow he still smells like Wei Wuxian, like old books and linen and longjing tea. “This time, at least.”</p><p>“War will still come next year,” says Lan Wangji, “won’t it?”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” The Resurrector’s hands are warm, like Wei Wuxian’s. “War is coming, and cities will fall, and families will be torn apart. Captain Ruohan was only the shape of things to come.”</p><p>Lan Wangji leans into the Resurrector’s embrace, and pretends, for one moment more, that he is holding Wei Wuxian again. </p><p>“You could come with me,” says the Resurrector, pulling back with that same roguish smile, that same impish twinkle in his eye. “See the whole of time and space.”</p><p>“And abandon my country in her time of need?” wonders Lan Wangji. “I have duties to my family. To the people of my community. To my students.”</p><p>The Resurrector sighs, and nods, and steps away. “Somehow, I knew you would say that, Lan Zhan,” he says. “And yet it makes me want you all the more.”</p><p>Lan Wangji swallows. “Will I ever see you again?”</p><p>“Every year,” promises the Resurrector. “Every year, once a year, for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll draw my own bridge across the Milky Way just to get to you, Lan Zhan, I promise.”</p><p>Lan Wangji can’t help but smile at that. “You may not find that easy to keep.”</p><p>“You think so?” The Resurrector grins, and swings back towards the door. “Challenge accepted, then.” </p><p>Lan Wangji watches from several floors up as the Wen siblings say goodbye to Wen Sizhui and follow the Resurrector back into the Qiankun Box. He watches, swallowing down the lump in his throat, as the big red box slowly thrums and pulses, before fading out of sight. </p><p>“See you next year,” he murmurs, before turning away from the window and heading out to teach his next class.</p>
<hr/><p>“See anything familiar?” wonders the Resurrector as he leads Wen Ning and Wen Qing out of the Qiankun Box. Out in front of them, the magnificent panorama of the Shanghai Bund sprawls in a mix of past and present, East and West. </p><p>“Historic buildings with complicated colonial backgrounds being co-opted as Starbucks?” wonders Wen Qing, grinning. “Must be home again.”</p><p>“And the Oriental Pearl Tower’s still here,” remarks Wen Ning, gesturing to the other side of the river. “How could you have blown it up in the past but it still…?”</p><p>“Well…” the Resurrector makes a face. “That’s the old alien one. This is the new human-built one. I’m guessing the architect heard some… family stories? Or maybe it came to him in a dream.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you hijacked someone’s dream and made them do it,” protests Wen Ning.</p><p>“Wasn’t me,” says the Resurrector, throwing up both hands. “Now, come on, there’s something else I want to show you.”</p><p>They take the metro with a couple beeps of the sonic dizi, following the Resurrector out onto a tree-lined avenue full of Western-style villas and apartments. “Sinan Road,” says the Resurrector, pulling them past yet another Starbucks and down the walkway. “Former home of, well, a Communist spymaster, opera stars, numerous writers, and…”</p><p>He trails off, expression tightening with something indescribable as he sees a young man slipping through a gilded archway. Wen Ning and Wen Qing look at one another, before Wen Qing puts a hand on the Resurrector’s shoulder. </p><p>“Are you alright?” she asks. The Resurrector swallows, nods. He darts into the golden corridor after the young man, past printed photos and records of the street’s colonial legacy, until he’s in an open alley looking up at the familiar back façade of an old French-style mansion. </p><p>The young man is standing there, clutching a worn leather journal to his chest. There’s something strangely familiar about his face, something none of the time-travellers can quite put their finger on in this moment. </p><p>“My great-uncle used to live on this road,” says the young man, looking back at them with a small smile. “They lived in this old mansion. The only thing left of the original house is the handle of the front door. Everything else has been wrecked by war and revolution and then built back up again for modern consumption.” </p><p>“Sounds like if historical preservation and gentrification had a baby,” replies Wen Ning. The young man laughs at that. </p><p>“It’s interesting, what governments choose to remember and forget in their own history,” he says. “This place looks well-preserved, but it’s forgotten the old Shanghai.” He chuckles. “Or at least, it wouldn’t be the old Shanghai my great-uncle remembers.”</p><p>“Is he still here?” wonders the Resurrector, his gaze fixed by the rose bushes and wisteria trees flourishing in the garden. The young man shakes his head.</p><p>“He left Shanghai after the war and never came back. I wish he could, though. Wish he could see it now.” He chuckles. “But I bet he’d say something about how they got the colour of the bricks wrong.”</p><p>“A man of few words and many secrets,” agrees the Resurrector. The young man looks up at him, frowning, before looking back down at the journal in his hands. </p><p>“He did always say you never aged a day,” he remarks, “even as each year wore on and he grew older. He said it wasn’t fair.” </p><p>The Resurrector laughs at that, folding his hands behind his back. “But was he happy, in the end?”</p><p>“The happiest,” replies the young man. “It’s why he let me publish his journals. He wanted to make sure you remembered these times, too. Every last line.”</p><p>And with that, he presses the journal into the Resurrector’s hands, before stepping back towards the golden alleyway. The three time-travellers watch him vanish around the corner before following, but this time something hanging from a nearby wall catches Wen Ning’s eye. He pulls at the Resurrector’s sleeve, pointing to a poster nestled in between other event announcements. </p><p>The young man from earlier smiles down at them on the glossy page, posing with an older man whose eyes are still the same familiar amber-gold that had caught Wei Wuxian’s eye. <em> A Journal of Impossible Things</em>, reads the poster. <em> Book Reading and Meet and Greet with Author Lan Yuan</em>. </p><p>The Resurrector smiles. “Shall we go to the bookstore?” he asks, gesturing down the gilded passageway. Wen Ning and Wen Qing nod, already hurrying back through the museum placards. The Resurrector looks back at the poster, then down at the journal cradled tightly to his chest.</p><p>“See you soon, Lan Wangji,” he promises, and then runs off after his companions.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Title taken from "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWVfIqZHxGc">I Want to Fly Into the Sky</a>" by Grace Chang. The song itself might be from the 1950s, but the genre of the song is Shidaiqu, a fusion of Chinese folk song and jazz popular in the 1920s and 1930s. </p><p>Rue Massenet, part two - This street was full of artists and intellectuals, as well as Zhou Enlai, future premier of communist China. At the time, he was living incognito as a spymaster for the CCP. </p><p>Madam Jiang/Song Mei-ling - More commonly known as Soong Mei-Ling or Madam Chiang Kai-Shek (I went with Mandarin instead of Cantonese romanisation for continuity's sake). Her husband became the leader of the Nationalist Party of China and eventually lost the Chinese Civil War to the Communists, fleeing to Taiwan. She herself is an alum from my college and did speaking tours throughout the US raising awareness of her husband’s efforts during WW2 as well as the Chinese Civil War.</p><p>Exciting new theories from Europe - The Theory of Relativity by Albert Einstein comes to mind.</p><p>This country's going to make movies just as exciting and glamorous - Lianhua Studios, one of the dominant Chinese film studios, moved to Shanghai in 1931.</p><p>Nebula below the Three Stars, Silver River - The Orion Nebula and the Milky Way.</p><p>The Wilde persuasion - I like to think <i>Pearl of the Orient</i> is a social commentary film disguised as frothy class comedy, like an Oscar Wilde play meets Renoir's <i>The Rules of the Game</i>. </p><p>Hostess/Courtesan - Dance halls become more popular during the 1930s, though at some places the hostesses can be paid for other favours besides dancing...</p><p>Cigarettes - Shanghai had a growing cigarette industry despite the efforts of the government.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a while since I finished something relatively long-form so I'm glad to be able to finish this!! </p><p>Incidentally, for those a bit dismayed by the ending: my schedule and brain permitting, I do have some plans to <a href="https://twitter.com/lilywinterwood/status/1265165799934660609?s=20">reunite LWJ and the Resurrector in a future instalment</a>. I've always wanted to write timey wimey romance shenanigans... </p><p>Bluh and Cherry illustrated some scenes for this fic!<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/Bluhtack/status/1274344112880119810?s=20">The Garden Scene</a> by Bluh<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/lanbunji/status/1274364066635698176?s=20">The Star Nursery</a> by Cherry</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/lilywinterwood">Twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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